


From God Above, to the One I Love

by imagined_melody



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: (SO MUCH DIRTY TALK IN CHAPTER 6), (mentioned) - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Worship, Body insecurity, Canonical Character Death, Catholic Guilt, Coitus Interruptus, Come Swallowing, Crying During Sex, Dirty Talk, Embarrassment, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Fear of Discovery, Fluff and Smut, Greece, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Moving In Together, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Potentially Demisexual Character, Religious Discussion, Religious Guilt, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Inexperience, Travel, Voyeurism, sexual anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-05 12:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13387638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagined_melody/pseuds/imagined_melody
Summary: Loving Hanschen Rilow turned out to be so much more than Ernst had bargained for.The beginning of Hanschen and Ernst's relationship, post-vineyard scene, and the ways in which they learn each other's bodies and hearts. ("Mildly dubious consent" warning applies only to Chapter 1.)





	1. The Origin of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been sitting on my computer for the longest time; I think I started writing it around the time I saw the musical for the first time in approximately 2013, and I've been adding to it in bits and pieces since then. Other than this chapter and a character arc sometime in the future, there isn't so much a narrative throughline as a series of (mostly porny) vignettes. So most of the chapters after this one will be detailing other sexual exploits these boys have as they explore and love one another. Less plot, more smut. :P
> 
> A note: if you are concerned about the "dubious consent" label this chapter comes with, I'd suggest skipping to the note at the end of this chapter, where I explain my rationale for depicting their first time the way I did. Hopefully it provides some reassurance. Of course, you are not obligated to read anything that makes you uncomfortable; if the idea of (even unintentional) advantage being taken is distressing for you, feel free to skip the story or skip past this first chapter, since all future ones come free of those issues and full of successful negotiations of boundaries!
> 
> Title from "The Origin of Love" by MIKA, which you should listen to [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUelnT5GZxE).

Loving Hanschen Rilow turned out to be so much more than Ernst had bargained for.

\---

Their first kiss, at the vineyard in the light of the setting sun, had left him reeling. He had gone home, pressed himself to his bedroom door, and felt his blood racing with the joy of being touched. For those precious moments, he had been the sole focus of Hanschen’s confident, single-minded attention. He wanted so many things at once, things he could not even begin to imagine for himself. And Hanschen had all but admitted that the moment was as beautiful and precious to him as it was to Ernst. It took some hours for sleep to find him that night, so consumed was he by the way in which he felt changed, laid bare and created anew.

Still, there had been a worry in the back of his mind. What if Hans did not care as much as he had led Ernst to believe? What if, tomorrow, he tired of Ernst and kept his distance? 

Hanschen’s appearance at his doorstep, a flirtatious smile on his face, silenced all doubts. “Is your family home?” the other boy asked. Ernst shook his head dumbly. And with that, Hanschen had crossed the threshold into his house, and his hands were on Ernst’s body, and he was lost to the sensation again.

At first, it had been thrilling. Kissing Hanschen was like being struck by lightning, sparking something dizzying and incomparable in Ernst: a feeling physically like a fever and mentally like madness, sudden and irrevocable. And then Hanschen took Ernst’s hand and put it _there, so close,_ warm on the skin of Hans’ bare upper thigh. Ernst could feel a greater heat inches from his longest fingertip. He yearned to move further still, to see if the source of that heat felt the same as his own did when he tentatively grasped it in his dark room at night—but he didn’t dare.

Hanschen, as usual, did all of the daring for him. They scrambled to rid themselves of their school jackets, leaving the shirts beneath in disarray; Hans’ was rumpled in several directions, and Ernst found his unbuttoned and pushed partially off one shoulder before Hanschen abandoned the effort to remove it all the way. Instead, Hans moved to the buckle at Ernst’s waist, unclasping it and threading the belt out. He pulled the top fastening of Ernst’s school trousers open with a decisive tug. Ernst gasped softly. The same happened with the second, and the third, until the two sides fell open to reveal a bulge more prominent than any Ernst thought he’d had before. If not for his underpants, he would be straining upwards. There was a damp spot already visible where he’d begun to grow slick with arousal, though all they’d done so far was kiss. It made him feel viscerally embarrassed, as though he were a young boy who had accidentally wet himself, which he had always been afraid of doing in his primary school years. 

But Hanschen reached boldly out and pressed his palm there and _rubbed,_ and though it made the damp spot grow against the boy’s hand, Ernst was too torn between pleasure and shame to care. Hanschen’s hand was far less hesitant than his own, moving against him with slow, sure strokes, and Ernst’s back arched at the exciting sensation. So this was how it felt to be touched by another man. All of his fantasies were suddenly being cast in a paler light.

For the few moments that Hans did that, it was gloriously good. Ernst shuddered at the stimulation, grasping at Hanschen’s arms for purchase—his head occasionally tipping back, only to find nothing solid to rest it on. Hanschen’s hand sped up against his erection, and Ernst thought for a moment that he would keep going, keep touching and rubbing until that strange and almost-frightening rush of sensation that Ernst knew would follow. (He expected this with a mixture of anticipation and dread; the idea of finding release in front of this object of his attraction was still a slightly embarrassing, yet thrilling prospect, even as something wild in Ernst yearned to see the same climax rending Hanschen apart.)

Instead of persisting in this, however, Hanschen pulled away. Ernst’s eyes flew open, glazed with desire and wide with confusion. “Hans, what—“ he started to say, but Hanschen had gone to the cupboard, searching until he found a slick oily substance to carry back over to them. Ernst was propped up on his elbows with his legs sprawled out in front of him, and now Hans’ firm hand on his shoulder guided him until he was lying fully on his back on the bed. Ernst felt his heartbeat run wild, a flush coming to skin already warm with nervous sweat as he realized what Hanschen intended to do. Then his trousers and undergarments were eased off and he felt fingers, blunt and slippery with the mixture, probing at his buttocks, seeking the spot where a puckered entrance could be found. Ernst began to pull away—something about that felt terribly forbidden—but Hanschen wrapped a big hand around his hip and gently drew him back. Adding more lubricant, he pressed the finger against his hole again: more deliberately this time, but without force, waiting for Ernst to accept the contact. Somehow Ernst managed to loosen enough to grant it entrance, stunned by the slide of a foreign object into his body. His first instinct was to resist it, but his body wanted Hanschen inside just as much as it could not make sense of this breach. He struggled to relax instead, shivering as the finger went all the way in to the furthest knuckle.

From there it probed around, wiggling in a way that almost made Ernst want to laugh out of nervousness and the strangeness of the sensation. He bit his lip to choke back both the giggle that threatened to escape and the ache of being entered in this way. Involuntarily his legs spread; Hanschen gave him a smile even more mischievous and triumphant than his usual grin and crooked his finger deeper, grazing against parts of Ernst that had never been touched before. Hearing no protest from the boy, he quickly withdrew the one finger and returned with two, pressed together for the initial breach and then curling and spreading to stretch the muscles of Ernst’s hole. Ernst let out a shuddering groan, past the point of being able to process what was happening, and said nothing. Hans’ fingers brushed against a spot that made him blush with forbidden pleasure; even the slight touch caused him to make a strange high-pitched sound. For the first time he bucked fully into the contact, wanting Hanschen to just remain there, prodding with his talented fingers until Ernst found the satisfaction his body now sought.

Soon, though, both fingers were gone, and Hanschen was dripping a substantial amount of the clear liquid onto his own erection, pulling on it with an impatient hand to spread the lubricant around and ensure that he was at full hardness. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice gone breathy and excited.

“Yes,” Ernst croaked out, although he looked dubiously at Hanschen’s cock, skeptical that any amount of stretching with fingers would adequately prepare him to have _that_ inside him. Hans was merely moderately-sized, but in the immediate circumstance, it did not appear that way to Ernst. Still, in a moment’s time he felt the blunt head of his friend’s erection pressing against the ring of muscle—still so tight; the fingering had done little to relax him—and with hands gripping his hips hard enough to leave light purple bruises, pushing in inch by inch.

It ached, more than Ernst had been expecting, and he hissed and bit his lip until it was white trying not to cry out at the sensation. Hanschen was panting above him, too absorbed to take notice of his partner’s discomfort. Ernst clenched around him tightly without meaning to, and Hanschen breathed in a strained voice, “Fuck, Ernst, _relax,_ I can’t move,” then pushed further in once Ernst deliberately let his muscles loosen. He felt the intruding erection graze across that sensitive spot from before, but his mind was in too much of a whirl to feel the spark of pleasure that followed. He was only aware of Hanschen bottoming out against him, hot and breathing heavily and seeming like a giant all around him. 

At the first tentative thrust, Ernst whimpered, feeling overwhelmed by the fullness and tightness consuming his every sensation. Hanschen, blinded by his own pleasure, took that helpless sound as encouragement and pushed in a couple more times, at a slightly faster pace, striking bluntly in him with a wet sound that seemed absolutely filthy to Ernst. He continued in that manner for a minute or so, then made a frustrated growl and pulled out, too quickly, causing Ernst to make a strained sound and jerk away. But in the blink of an eye, he found himself rearranged: Hanschen grabbed Ernst’s legs and folded them toward his chest, leaving him bent over double and completely exposed. Ernst shivered bodily, feeling small and vulnerable and slightly humiliated, but he could not take his eyes off of Hanschen, wanting to be prepared for whatever came next. 

Now that he had easier access, Hanschen pushed back in again, finding that this new angle allowed him to press deeper and faster without legs getting in the way. He began to thrust into Ernst, who whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut against the friction and the way Hanschen’s blunt, pointed movements struck something inside him, that sent lightning bolts through his body and at the same time made him want to curl into himself protectively against the onslaught of sensitivity. It was a confusing feeling; Ernst was not sure whether he was on the verge of coming, or of crying, or perhaps of both.

He was suddenly aware of Hanschen’s thrusts becoming erratic, the man muttering above him, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, _oh fuck_ —“ And then there it was: he felt something warm and gooily wet inside him, his friend’s still haphazard movements pushing into it as Hanschen’s release coated his inner walls. It felt strange and uncomfortable to be marked in this way from the inside, covered with a fluid that had been expelled from Hanschen’s body into his. He shuddered, letting Hanschen ride out the aftershocks and then finally slip from his body.

Hanschen took a moment to recover his breath. “God _damn_ ,” he said, smiling wolfishly. The expression, though not much different from his normal mischievous grin, seemed to take on an almost predatory, unnatural shade all of a sudden. The other boy did nothing to see to Ernst’s pleasure; Ernst was completely soft now and had been almost since the moment Hanschen had entered him, and Hans seemed to think Ernst had come at some point, although none of his reactions had remotely resembled the throes of orgasm. Ernst, for his part, did nothing to draw his attention to it; he was so overwhelmed that he was merely glad the whole experience was over. Hanschen cleaned himself off from where his flaccid penis was sticky with lube and come, wiped his brow with the corner of his shirt, and began to dress again. Finally he noticed the expression on Ernst’s face, and the fact that he had not moved. “What is it?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Ernst sat up slowly. His shirt was hanging haphazardly on his shoulders, more than half unbuttoned and wrinkled beyond decency; his back was already feeling raw with the way the fabric had rubbed against it as Hanschen’s thrusts pushed him along the bed. As he sat up some of the release leaked out of his opening, and the filthiness and embarrassment of it made tears sting his eyes, which he hoped he had blinked back before Hanschen could see them. His ass was sore from the friction and the stretch, muscles trembling and weak from how far his legs had been made to bend. Most of all, he was shaken by the intensity of it, the way it had felt to be entered, to be thrust into and released into and pulled out of without the proper care or affection. The way it had almost felt like a violation. 

“I wasn’t ready,” he said softly, his eyes glued to the floor. He could see Hanschen go suddenly still beside him, but the other man said nothing, so he went on. “I thought I would be, really I did, but I didn’t realize I wasn’t until we were doing it. I know I wanted it— it’s all I’ve been thinking about, Hans, I’m serious, I think about almost _nothing else_ —and I wanted it to be you. Everything in me lights up whenever I’m with you. But it was too much. I wasn’t ready.” He finally looked up at Hans. “I’m sorry.”

Hanschen was unmoving beside him, hands on the trousers he had just obtained from a few feet away, before Ernst had started speaking. His jaw was clenched, and Ernst was not sure whether he was angry, or perhaps simply disappointed; his face was unreadable. Without a word, he got to his feet and began to pull his pants on. Ernst’s stomach dropped, suddenly sure he had mis-stepped in some horrible way. “Hans—“ he said with an edge of desperation, reaching out for him, but Hanschen side-stepped out of his grasp with a flinch and finished putting himself together in seconds. Almost before Ernst could blink Hans was out the door, the other boy powerless to stop his flight. And with that Ernst crumpled, doubling in on himself, feeling such intense shame at his physical state and such sadness at having upset Hanschen that he could no longer hold himself together. 

He shuddered and sniffed back tears for a few minutes, until the drying stickiness and sensitivity became too much to ignore. Cleaning himself off felt almost as humiliating as the process by which he’d been dirtied, and he couldn’t help but feel he had been horribly used, even as he still loved Hanschen, wanted him to come back and kiss him and play at Greek together. What they’d just done had been thrilling, in a way, and intense in other ways that were not unpleasant—but also painful and slightly disgusting if he thought about it too closely. It had not been what Ernst had expected. 

The two boys did not spend any time together after that. Hanschen was standoffish and edgy, and Ernst too cowed to approach him, afraid of being snapped at or rejected if he made any advance. The physical tenderness pervading Ernst’s body faded after a day or so, to a dull ache and then nothing; likewise, the memory of the embarrassing act also became more distant and less harsh, although still uncomfortable to think of. He wondered if Hanschen had been similarly affected. He seemed more constrained, less free with his body than he typically was, as though he were holding himself back. Perhaps even though he had been the one in the dominant role, the experience had not been completely free of uncomfortable things for him either? All Ernst could do was wonder.

It was weeks later before the barrier between them finally broke. The news came, spreading like a growing cloud over the group of friends: Wendla Bergman was dead. Another of their own gone. They received the news at school, and the quiet that settled after the initial burst of shocked sound was something Ernst would always remember— that dread quiet, knowledge that something was strange about this situation, combined with the sudden realization that this lovely and bright young woman would never be seen among them again. When class was dismissed for the day, Ernst stood to collect his books, letting them drop haphazardly into his book bag rather than arranging them neatly like he always did. Then he just stood there, planning to hoist the bag onto his shoulder and leave, but finding himself rooted to the spot instead, unable or unwilling to move. 

Some moments later there was a hand on his shoulder, the gentle, hesitant press of a palm against his back. Ernst startled and looked up, his eyes sad, although no tears had yet fallen. He blinked in surprise; it was Hanschen. The bold boy looked gutted with sadness as well, and the red puffiness around his eyes suggested that he actually _had_ been crying. The hand on his shoulder drifted down to his elbow, wrapping lightly around the prominent bone, and he said, “Come on, Ernst. Let’s go.”

Ernst let himself be led to Hanschen’s house in a daze. His parents would not be home, and this would give them time to process things before the world intruded once again. The door to Hanschen’s room closed with a finality that echoed the hollowness in Ernst’s heart. He did not know what to say, to think even; he could not ignore what had happened between them even as his brain struggled to remember it through its stunned grief. So he continued to stand dumbly, doing nothing.

And then Hanschen gathered him into his arms. There was no pointedness to the embrace, no larger intention or manipulation; it was a sincerer thing, Hans holding him simply so he would be held. Because he _needed_ to be held. Ernst shuddered and went weak, feeling alarmingly female as he often did in the other man’s presence, but Hanschen didn’t seem to mind; he grasped Ernst by the elbow to keep him on his feet, buried the shorter man’s head in his chest, and let him cry when the tears came unbidden to his eyes. And throughout he said, “It’s all right, I’m here, stay with me,” a comfort and a plea rolled into one desperate stream of words.

Ernst wanted desperately to get control of himself, but he felt suddenly secure in Hanschen’s embrace; the comfort made it difficult to stop crying. The lapel of Hans’ school blazer was damp with the tears he’d shed, and Ernst noticed through the haze of his grief that there were wet drops soaking into his hair; Hanschen was crying too. Ernst’s hands gathered and tightened in his friend’s clothing, pulling him closer until they were so near that there was no room for movement. He was no longer sure which of them was holding the other upright.

When Hanschen pulled away, he put a hand tenderly to Ernst’s damp cheek and looked straight into his eyes with a raw, fixed expression. Ernst thought he was going to say something about Wendla or maybe Moritz, but what came out instead was, “I hurt you. I’m sorry.” 

This was not something Ernst had expected them to address at that moment. He blinked rapidly, leaning slightly into Hanschen’s touch, and the boy stroked his fingers across the pinking skin of his face. His mouth opened, but there were no words to say. So Hanschen spoke again, very quietly. “Will you help me fix it?”

Ernst’s heart thudded in his chest. A dozen reactions flashed through his mind, _yes_ and _please_ and _what are you doing_ among them, but what actually came out when he spoke was, “ _Why?_ ”

Hanschen looked sad; slightly hurt, although he had to know that Ernst did not mean it as a rejection, but mostly just sad. “Because it’s you, Ernst. It’s you I want. And I don’t want to fuck it up.” He nudged Ernst’s chin up with his hand so that he would look at him. “I want you to tell me what to do. To make it good.”

Ernst’s first fleeting thought was that he hadn’t the faintest idea what would feel good, certainly not enough to guide someone else. He had been a virgin before Hans, almost afraid to even touch himself in his bedroom in private. He still felt awkward in his own body, astonished and slightly terrified by what it did and felt and how it reacted. Hanschen radiated confidence and sexual appeal; clearly he was someone who not only desired sex, but knew how to get it— and seemed to know how to execute it. Except…that last part, perhaps, was not as true as he had thought. Now Hanschen was looking at him with wide, helpless eyes, wounded by the idea that he had caused Ernst injury in some way. Somehow, simply by being inexperienced and unable to voice his own desires, Ernst had given the cocksure young man pause. It seemed he was not as certain as he appeared to be. 

Ernst impulsively leaned over and pressed a tremulous, careful kiss to his lips. Hanschen breathed into it as though Ernst were physically administering him relief, taking the gesture for what it was: acceptance, forgiveness, willingness. He was behaving like Ernst had power over him in some way; the prospect was daunting. Ernst wasn’t sure he was up to the task, especially not in his current vulnerable state—but then again, Hanschen was in the same position, lacking the bravado he usually radiated, and maybe that leveled the playing field. Maybe it wasn’t an issue at this point of one of them dominating the other and calling the shots. Maybe they could approach this as equals.

The kiss deepened, part desperation and part heat that made his skin tingle. Ernst’s hand came up to rest against Hanschen’s cheek, a mirror of how Hans had been touching him not long before. It was a hungry kiss, but not _too_ hungry, not demanding or possessive. Ernst felt like Hans was trying to find a way beneath his skin, to seek refuge there. He tried to think what Hans would want, what he needed. But then Hanschen whispered into his ear again, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ve no idea what came over me. Ernst, I’m sorry...” And Ernst realized that he need not be concerned with deducing what Hanschen wanted. What his friend desired most, at that moment, was to know what _Ernst_ desired most.

So he shushed him with fingers against his lips. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he reassured, though it was not strictly true; the sexual experience between them had not been traumatic or damaging, but it had been humiliating, and it could not be denied that Hanschen should have been more considerate. But another question was at the forefront of Ernst’s mind. “Why did you run away so quickly? When I told you how I felt afterward?”

To his surprise, Hanschen flushed bright scarlet. “I was embarrassed,” he said in a tight, unhappy voice. Ernst looked at him with an utterly dumbfounded expression, at a loss for what would have caused Hanschen such shame when he had been so confident a moment before. Hanschen clarified, “I...it was over too fast. I did not want to finish so soon, but it felt new and different and _amazing_ , and I just couldn’t stop myself...” He blinked rapidly, hardly able to make eye contact with Ernst, he was so uncomfortable. “I tried to cover it up, how embarrassed I was. But then when you said it wasn’t good...I couldn’t stay in the same room with you, knowing I’d made a fool of myself _and_ hurt you in the process. It couldn’t have gone more wrong.”

“Hush,” Ernst said, soothing a bit of the disturbance out of the boy’s gaze. “At least the first time is over. We both know what it’s like now. Surely that must make the next try a bit easier.”

Hanschen looked surprised and suddenly hopeful. “You’d let me...” he said, trailing off.

“You just asked me to,” Ernst said. “What, did you really think I would push you away and turn you out into the street?”

“I would not think it wrong if you did,” Hanschen admitted. “After what I had done, it would be right if you didn’t let me near you.”

“Sadly, I am rarely if ever right,” Ernst said with a smile, slightly self-deprecating but also good-natured, inviting. “But it seems that quality will work in our favor in this case.”

Hanschen smiled at him, still sad but with a faint genuine light not unlike clouds clearing from the sky. He reconnected their kiss, pressing their lips together and then gently biting and nipping at Ernst’s bottom lip, each sting of teeth a tiny burst of contact. Ernst yelped at first, not expecting that, but then settled into the sensation of Hanschen worrying his lip, and before long moaned low. His hips bucked involuntarily, momentarily making contact with Hanschen’s, and there was a sudden strike of arousal when he realized that both of them were half-hard. Ernst gasped and drew back, and Hanschen did not manhandle or follow him— but he did smile again, his eyes glazed slightly in response to the stimulation, the friendly expression reassuring to Ernst.

“Tell me,” he reminded Ernst in a murmur, tracing fingers over the bridge of his nose in a random affectionate gesture. 

Ernst shuddered. “I want to undress you,” he said before he could think too closely about it.

Hanschen gave a shy smile. “Then undress me,” he said quietly, spreading his arms slightly in invitation.

Ernst felt shaky with the knowledge that he could approach Hanschen, take this liberty with him. His hands went to the boy’s jacket, pulling it off his shoulders, and then worked the school shirt open and pulled it off as well. Hanschen let him do it, pliant and welcoming, fingers twitching on his wrist as he pulled the fabric back and let it fall gently to the ground. Ernst smoothed hands over the skin of his lover’s chest and down to his torso, pausing to feel Hanschen’s heart beating steadily and the muscles of his abs twitching at the ticklish press of fingers. Ernst realized his breathing had stopped and let it out suddenly.

Hanschen was calm underneath his hands, watching the progress of his touches with vivid attention. Ernst realized he was growing punch-drunk with the contact, forgetting to take things further since he was so mesmerized by the opportunity to caress Hanschen. He was amazed by how patient the man was being with him; he’d been so hasty before, insistent and dominant, and now he was much more relaxed. Ernst leaned up and kissed him again, sealing their lips together in an embrace that immediately deepened into a hungry, claiming gesture, which was returned eagerly.

He noticed with a start that Hanschen was trembling slightly, as if desperate to be touched. Ernst whispered, “Hush, be still,” against his lips once more, and let his hands boldly travel down to rest against his buttocks, drawing him close enough to make them both gasp. Hanschen rocked deliberately into him, urging Ernst on while still letting him take the lead; they did this again, and again, and again, until the rolling of Ernst’s hips became erratic and he reached down to Hanschen’s pants buckle, pausing only for a moment before sucking in a breath for courage and pulling the fastening loose.

Hanschen wiggled out of the trousers and socks as best he could while standing up, until he stood before Ernst, naked except for his underclothes. He did not have the tremulous vulnerability that someone like Ernst did, but he was not overpowering either; he simply stood in a nonthreatening and inviting manner, leaving his body open to Ernst’s scrutiny and action. Ernst nudged him with his hands, encouraging him over to the bed, and Hanschen gave him a small smile and went willingly, letting himself be tipped onto his back on the mattress and straddled by Ernst’s ungraceful body. Ernst worried that he would be unappealing to Hans, but the other man showed no signs of displeasure. He wrapped a hand firmly around the back of Ernst’s head to draw him close, his tongue connecting with Ernst’s in a way that was hungry and passionate, enough to make him feel slightly dizzy.

Ernst felt hips tilting up to meet his own in a lazy thrust, his own body eager to make contact again. His hand ventured across Hanschen’s waist; he had intended to caress his stomach, but his touch was low and aimless, and he inadvertently bumped against the hard ridge of his erection, encased in his underpants. Ernst pulled back, blinking at Hanschen. In response, Hanschen closed his fingers delicately over Ernst’s wrist and gently relocated him to his cock, then covered it with his own hand— softly enough that Ernst could dislodge himself if he chose, but firm enough to guide him in stroking him there. They established a steady, undulating rhythm, Ernst’s hand underneath Hans’ hand overtop of the man’s cock, all of it moving as one entity. He could feel Hans filling even more against him, responding to the slow friction, and the idea that he was arousing the beautiful young man like this made Ernst dizzy.

“I want to be naked with you,” Hanschen said in a low, stuttering voice as he moved into Ernst’s hand. “Can I?”

Ernst gaped at him— he must look like a fish out of water most of the time— and his brain slowed and tried to come back into action as he nodded. Hanschen smiled and stopped their combined hands on him, pausing to wiggle out of his underwear and kick it off between Ernst’s legs, leaving him gloriously bare beneath him. Ernst stared at his exposed form, unable to fathom anything else. He allowed Hans to remove everything on the top half of his body, but when he felt the man’s finger trace over the waistband of his trousers, dipping the tip of one finger below to run across the skin near his hip, he must have done something odd, because Hanschen stopped.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, puzzled but not annoyed.

Ernst frowned. “Like what?”

“You’re looking at me strangely,” Hanschen informed him, letting fingers dance over his skin without going any further. “You did it a lot last time, too. You’ve gone all red and scrunched up.”

It wasn’t the most flattering description of him, and Ernst couldn’t imagine he looked very sexy as a result, but he could trace the origin of the expression based on it. “I’m embarrassed,” he said, and Hanschen cocked an eyebrow at him, wordlessly asking for an explanation for his current state of shame. “You don’t want to see me naked. I’m not much to look at.”

Hanschen rubbed circles in his side, the touch reassuring despite everything. “May I remind you that I have seen you naked before, and I liked the view just fine?” he said in a casual but not flippant voice. Ernst still squirmed under his gaze. “Ernst, you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he continued. “Do not think yourself so undesirable. You will be more uncomfortable doing this, always, if you do not allow yourself to enjoy it.”

“I do enjoy—“ Ernst started to protest, but Hanschen stopped him.

“To enjoy it for _yourself_ , just as you are. Not just the parts your body likes because it is biologically wired to like them,” he preemptively corrected. “If the biological urge were all sex was, we wouldn’t do it as often. And we surely would not like it and crave it as much as we do.” He grinned conspiratorially.

Ernst summoned up what courage he had, and let his hand go to his buckle; the fastenings were opened, and then he was shedding his pants and underwear in one go overtop of Hanschen. The other boy watched him with fixed attention, everything in his manner suggesting that he was appreciating the sight. Ernst came back to his original position straddling him. He still felt painfully awkward; his body was nothing to praise, he thought, and even more embarrassing than that was his erection, which strained upward and beaded with liquid despite his discomfort. The same qualities on Hans made him look like an Adonis, but Ernst was convinced they were grotesque and out of place on himself.

Hans let his hand hover very near to Ernst’s erection, close but not touching. “May I?”

Ernst could tell he was scrunching again; Hanschen gave him a fondly exasperated look, and Ernst exclaimed, “I’m sorry! It’s just strange, Hanschen, to be in such a state and have you look at me and _touch me_.”

Hanschen looked him straight in the eyes and mouthed _May I?_ again, and Ernst gave him a tremulous, unsure nod. Ever so gently, Hanschen’s fingers touched him, a flitting pressure that was barely contact at all. “You know what I like about this?” Hanschen asked him in a casual, light voice. Ernst shook his head. “All of this— the fact that you’re hard...” he let his fingers drift over the prominent vein and the rigid skin surrounding it, looking vaguely pleased at the soft moan Ernst gave in response, “...the fact that you’re leaking...” His fingers were on the tip of his cock now, spreading around the pale liquid beading there; it felt filthy, but Ernst shivered when more of the fluid pulsed out at the touch, and Hanschen grinned at the sight, “...and the fact that you’re filling…” he now ran a hand over Ernst’s balls, pulling a slightly louder moan out of him. “All of these tell me that you are enjoying yourself.” He finally looked back up at Ernst’s eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Ernst said automatically, without thinking.

Hanschen gave a barely perceptible shake of the head and cupped his chin, maintaining eye contact. “No, Ernst, this is important. Think carefully and be honest. Do you trust me?”

Ernst looked at him, really looked, and said in a voice quieter but more sure, “Yes, Hanschen.”

“Then close your eyes,” Hanschen said. “I don’t want you to think. I want you to _feel_.”

Obediently, Ernst let his eyes flutter shut. He felt Hans guiding him onto the bed, reversing their positions. “Is this all right?” he asked, and Ernst nodded. He felt wet lips kissing the side of his arm, and then licking a sure line all the way over to his nipple, before pulling it between his lips. Ernst let out a faint murmur, his fingers sliding aimlessly on the bed. He heard a responding hum from Hanschen, who bit down gently— a sharp sensation that was painful but also strangely pleasurable. “Did you like that?” he heard Hans mouth against his skin.

“Kind of,” Ernst replied, although the breathiness in his voice likely displayed his enjoyment more than his words did. Hanschen soothed the bite with his tongue, and Ernst’s eyes flew open; Hanschen reminded him, “Eyes closed,” and he shut them again. 

“What did you like, the last time?” Hanschen asked, and Ernst cracked an eye open again at the tentativeness in his voice. Hanschen was looking up at him with worry written all over his face, concerned that Ernst might say that nothing about it had been enjoyable. His expression became even more disturbed to see that Ernst was looking at him; clearly he had been hoping for the protection of asking a question like this unobserved. Ernst closed his eyes, and he felt Hanschen kiss his stomach gently in a gesture of relief and thanks. 

“When you touched me,” he said, “I liked that. And when your fingers were, um, _in_ me,” he continued, knowing that he was blushing furiously, “I liked that too. I could have, um, finished like that. If you had kept going.”

“It was just the intercourse you disliked,” Hanschen said into his skin.

“No,” Ernst replied, and he could feel Hans’ huff of surprise. “I did not know what it would be like, that’s all, Hans. It happened so suddenly, and I was unprepared. I should have told you to be slower, gentler.”

There was a long pause, and then Hanschen asked in a tiny voice, “Why didn’t you?”

Ernst fought the urge to open his eyes again; Hanschen was finding security in not being looked at, and he knew he should grant him that. “I did not know, before it was happening,” he admitted. “And when I did, I thought this was the way it was supposed to be. I thought it would pass.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hanschen said to him.

Ernst groped around for Hanschen’s head, running a gentle hand over his scalp. “Have I not forgiven you already?” he said with a fond tone. “I thought I had.”

Hanschen took him by the wrist and kissed his palm, conveying appreciation that Ernst could feel since he was being asked not to see. “I would rather apologize too much than not enough,” he said, “for such a trespass on you. It was a violation I did not intend, and it was careless.”

Ernst smiled. “You have apologized just enough, if not a bit more,” he said. “Perhaps we should put it past us.”

Hanschen took a deep breath, and then said, “Open your eyes.” Ernst did, and saw only kindness in his friend’s gaze. “I’d like to suck you off,” he continued in a voice deceptively mild, considering the naughtiness of what he was saying, “if that’s all right with you.”

Ernst felt like his vision had gone fuzzy. “Why would you want your mouth—“ he started to say, but Hanschen’s sly, playful smile stopped him.

“To make you feel good,” he replied, kissing him near enough to his erection to make him sigh. “You will have to do nothing, other than enjoy it. I want to teach you how to do that.”

“But what about you?” Ernst stammered.

“I can take care of myself,” Hanschen reassured with a light caress to his thigh. “Or, if you want, I can show you how to do something for me. Then we’ll be even.”

After a moment, Ernst nodded, and felt a thrill at the light that came into Hans’ eyes at the acquiescence. He kissed tenderly down Ernst’s stomach, skirting just barely around the swell of his erection and chuckling when it caused him to whine. Ernst watched him with dazed eyes as he inched closer, until finally just his tongue darted out and flicked tantalizingly against the head of his dick.

“Oh...” Ernst said shakily, his breath coming sharply. Hanschen waited for a long moment, and then drifted closer again, this time taking the tip fully in his mouth. Ernst’s eyes fell closed without his meaning to shut them, and he heard Hans say “Good,” the vibrations from his speech causing pleasure to spike through his cock. The head of his erection was resting against the soft, half-closed pillow of Hanschen’s mouth, and when he peeked through squinting eyes he saw a little drop of his own fluid seep onto Hans’ lip; Hanschen’s tongue came out to lap it up, and the sight was so filthy that it made him tremble.

And then Hans was sliding down a few inches further, sucking now instead of simply holding Ernst in his mouth, and the pressure was blinding and beautiful and made him squirm involuntarily. It took every modicum of self-control not to force his hips further toward Hanschen’s mouth, not wanting to rush him (or worse, choke him). He was aware that as Hanschen, encouraged by his reaction, moved faster and sucked harder, he was making increasingly desperate and dirty noises, but he could not seem to find the brain cells necessary to care. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Hanschen was clearly enjoying himself; he had a look of focus and pleasure as he attended to his task. The knowledge that this was not pleasurable only to him added an extra dimension to the act, and Ernst felt something in him swell with increased desire.

He was close in the blink of an eye, and tugged at Hanschen’s shoulder, trying to pull him away before the flood of release happened. Hans tried to remain attached, but Ernst protested in a strained voice, “Hans— no, I don’t want to— not in your mouth—“

“Are you sure?” Hanschen asked, pulling off but keeping his mouth close. “It will feel good, I promise.”

Ernst shook his head; the prospect of spilling into someone’s mouth was slightly repulsive to him, his lack of experience in such matters making it difficult to acclimate to the more unusual aspects of sexuality. Hanschen seemed to understand, or at least accept his answer; he pulled away a bit further and attended to Ernst with his hand instead. He tugged on the hot skin of his balls and worked his palm rapidly over Ernst’s erection, the slickness from his mouth accentuating the sensation. Ernst shuddered, groaned, and then said, “I can’t— Hans, I’m going to—“

“That’s the point,” Hanschen said, kissing his thigh, the gentleness of the gesture a soft counterpoint to the movement of his hand. “Come on, Ernst. Finish for me.”

Ernst squeezed his eyes shut, not able to look at Hanschen as his body seized with this most private of reactions, and felt warm fluid spread over his stomach. He knew some of it must have gotten on Hanschen’s fingers as well, but the man didn’t seem to mind; he slowed his hand to several firm, long pulls, milking every second of his release out of him until he went loose and pliant on the bed with satisfaction. “Good lord,” Ernst breathed in a shaky voice. “That was...I have never felt anything like that before.”

Hanschen was no longer stimulating him, but he kept kissing the twitching muscles in his leg and smoothing fingers over any stretch of skin within his reach. Ernst realized he was soothing him, guiding him through the oversensitivity of his aftershocks and making sure he was calm and right. Ernst pulled in a deep breath and let it out, finding that the contact did in fact keep him balanced through what was otherwise a dizzying and unfamiliar experience. His eyes went half-lidded, his breathing evening out. Hanschen seemed satisfied, content just to watch Ernst’s sated laziness as he stretched out on the bed before him. 

Ernst finally pulled Hanschen up to kiss him, feeling suddenly like he needed the closeness of the man he cared for so deeply, who had just done something so intimate with him. They kissed languidly, and the way that Hanschen draped his body over Ernst’s made him realize that Hans was still hard. The feeling of his hardness against the skin of his leg made something in Ernst feel warm. He wrapped a hand around Hanschen’s thigh, pulling it to straddle his leg more closely. Hanschen hummed at the closeness and rocked his lower body against his leg, using the firm limb as friction against his arousal. Ernst stared down at him, pulling gently again to encourage him to keep doing that; the sensation was surprisingly pleasurable. Hanschen’s rocking became more insistent, little by little, until he was rubbing himself mindlessly on Ernst’s leg, letting the hard ridge of his cock rut against the boy’s body.

“So good, Ernst,” he muttered, his voice urgent as pleasure began to crest through him. “God, I’m almost there, Ernst. I can’t hold on much longer.”

His hips were jerking against Ernst now, the thrusts becoming more erratic as the buildup of stimulation increased. All of a sudden he went rigid, then absolutely boneless, sagging onto the bed and twitching as he released all over the sheets. Ernst glided a hand over Hanschen’s back, damp with sweat and trembling with aftershocks. Hanschen made a small sound halfway between a whine and a sigh, sinking further onto the mattress and just breathing for a moment.

Ernst broke the silence almost a minute later. “If you were still worried about my enjoyment, I can safely reassure you that this was far better than my prior experience.”

Hanschen chuckled and swatted him on the flank, then punctuated it with a wet, silly kiss to his hip. “It had damn well better be,” he said on a laugh, “because if I try to improve much more, it might do me in.” He was joking, at least in tone, but Ernst did not miss the fact that Hans looked pleased, almost delighted, at the knowledge that he had satisfied him.

Ernst carded fingers through his hair, enjoying the firm shape of Hanschen against his body. Whereas the first time he had been overwhelmed by the intrusion of sex, now he struggled to adapt to the intimacy of such an act, the way his body yearned for Hanschen in ways that it had not done, at least to that extent, at any other time. He felt almost embarrassed that he apparently needed to be cuddled— it felt painfully feminine— but Hanschen drew him close without any hint of judgment or hesitation. In fact, he seemed to also be craving the contact, because he did not break away by more than a couple of inches at any point, making sure they were connected as much as possible at all times. 

“I want to do so many things with you,” Hanschen murmured into Ernst’s jaw as he slid up his body to suck a sensitive spot into his neck. “So many things, Ernst, you have no idea.”

“I have every idea,” Ernst admitted back, pressing a hand to the back of Hanschen’s neck to anchor him where he was. “I may not know what to expect from these sorts of things, but I know how to want. And I’ve wanted you so very long.”

Hanschen kissed and nipped at his neck until Ernst’s skin tingled, and then pulled away when he began to hiss with the sting of teeth against sensitive skin. “I need...” he said, and then stopped, burying his face in Ernst’s chest; Ernst sensed his sudden emotional vulnerability and hugged him close, waiting patiently for him to continue. When he did, his voice was shaky. “Wendla and Moritz are _gone_ , Ernst, and Melchior might as well be too, for all he’s lost. Why do we keep slipping away?” 

His fingers were tight on Ernst’s hips, as though trying to keep him from drifting off in the very way he’d just described. There were tears welling in his eyes. Ernst quickly pulled him flush against him, kissing him hurriedly before the torrent of emotion could escape. Hanschen’s eyes fluttered shut as their lips connected, and then again as Ernst pressed a kiss to his forehead after parting from him. A few small tears escaped, and he sniffled pitifully, but did not cry, seeming soothed enough by the affection. It had been a difficult and intense day for both of them, and it seemed Hanschen was just as undone by its events as Ernst. He was not startled by Hanschen’s rapid change from arousal to affection to vulnerability; it was natural considering their circumstances.

“I don’t know,” Ernst admitted into Hans’ hair. “I often wonder if there was anything we could have done for Moritz— and now for Wendla...” His eyes fell shut at the flood of emotion that ripped through him as he thought of her dead. “The problem is not that we did not do enough, really. It’s that we’ll never know what we _could_ have done. I wish I knew the right thing that would have made everything go differently.”

Hanschen looked shell-shocked, and Ernst rubbed his hands against his sides, first in gentle circles, and then in swifter movements, as though trying to get his circulation going, to bring warmth and life into his body. Grief, he thought, was like enduring a thousand small deaths instead of dying yourself. He yearned to revive Hanschen, the need to care for him a reflexive mirror of his desperate wish to bring their lost friends back to life.

Hanschen shuddered, but seemed to wake up a little from his stupor. His breath was warm on Ernst’s chest, and his lips moved gently on the skin, trading touches back in return for the ones Ernst was administering. “What Moritz did....” Hanschen finally said in an unsteady whisper. “Promise me you won’t do that.”

Ernst was stunned. “I would never,” he said, mouth agape.

Hanschen looked up at him with eyes flashing with a strange terror, an anxiety Ernst had never seen there before. “I don’t think Moritz thought he would ever do it, either,” he said insistently. “Promise me, Ernst, that if you feel like that you will come to me, no matter when it is or where I am or what has happened between us. I would rather endure a thousand inconveniences than risk losing you forever.”

Ernst felt stricken. He gathered Hanschen’s face in his hands and drew him close, until their noses were touching. “I _know_ ,” he said, hoping those two words communicated everything: that he knew Hanschen would not want to lose him, that he knew this desperation the boy was feeling, that he knew it could happen to anyone, even him, who had never had a thought to harm himself in his life. Hanschen was not saying this because he thought Ernst was particularly likely to do such a thing; he was saying it because he felt protective, fiercely so, of his friends but especially his lover. And the pain of thinking about Ernst doing something to harm himself and that going unsaid was like a knife in the gut. “You too,” Ernst said, feeling that urge himself now. “I will always be here."

For a while they could do nothing but process their torrent of emotions. Then Hans cleared his throat wetly. “We must do something for Melchior. He has it worst of all of us.”

“His best friend and his girl,” Ernst agreed softly, smoothing a hand over Hanschen’s back. “God, I cannot imagine.”

They ended up dressing as the sun began to set, and made the short trip across town to Melchior’s house, finding it lit softly in the dusk. His mother opened the door, looking fondly at the two of them as they stood in the threshold with matching worried expressions, and pointed the way to her son’s room. “Thank you for coming,” she said as they made their way down the hall. “He needs you.”

They stayed the night, talking to Melchior when he panicked, holding him when he cried, or simply sitting near when he did not wish to be disturbed. Melchior said nothing when the two of them fell asleep, curled together in an embrace closer than that of friendship. He simply rolled onto his side facing them, watching their even breaths for minutes and minutes at a time, and then closed his eyes and slipped into unconsciousness as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, there is a reason I chose to write a dubious-consent plotline for these two as they get together. My initial impulse was to parallel, in a way, the Act 1 moment between Wendla and Melchior, where they cross a boundary into kinky territory (spanking/beating) without proper discussion first. They turn out to be all right with it, but I would label that dubious consent because of that lack of communication. They're inexperienced, but they move past it (or would have, more effectively, had circumstances not been what they were). 
> 
> Hanschen is a proud, self-assured young man, cultured and in some ways educated in sexuality (we have a hint that adults in his life have made this information available to him) but likely not sexually _experienced_. So he is likely to be confident to the point of carelessness, believing he knows more than he actually does. Ernst is also established in canon to be less in touch with his own sexuality, and probably more insecure as a result. In this chapter, when asked why he didn't stop Hanschen as this initial encounter went bad, he says he didn't know what he needed until it was happening- and then, he assumed it would pass and the experience would improve. So he never withdraws consent because of his preconceived notions (or lack thereof) of how their lovemaking will progress.
> 
> What is important, to me, is ensuring that the two characters pull through the discomfort that was caused. Hanschen is genuinely apologetic in this chapter, disturbed by the fact that he has violated Ernst's boundaries so thoroughly without intending to, and both of them realize the importance of communicating and being sensitive to one another's needs. They both are self-aware enough to attribute their issues to inexperience rather than ill intent, and they quickly resolve it in ways that are satisfactory to them both. In future chapters, these insecurities will come up again, but the communication means that their willing participation will not be dubious going forward. 
> 
> As always, I am active on tumblr at [imaginedmelody](http://imaginedmelody.tumblr.com), if you want to stop by and say hello! I take prompts and welcome new friends.


	2. The Air I Breathe, The Love I Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometime in the not-too-distant future, Hans and Ernst accidentally cross a boundary. Embarrassment and satisfaction both ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, this is definitely where the story becomes less plot and more porn, at least for the time being. :) I have SO MANY smutty vignettes, but there's no kind of chronology to them other than whether they fall before or after the few narrative-based checkpoints I have planned. So the porn may appear out of order; I didn't envision this happening right away after the events of Chapter 1, but it seemed to follow logically from what Hans and Ernst did the last time we saw them. I'll keep you posted when we're back in some kind of plot-based storyline- but for now, enjoy the lovemaking! (Tags on the fic will be updated as new chapters are added.)

Hanschen was sure he would never tire of watching Ernst pleasure him with his mouth. It had taken Ernst a while to come around to the idea; though he enjoyed having oral sex performed on him—perhaps more than he was willing to admit—he was embarrassed to try such a thing himself. It required him to behave in ways that were undignified and, quite frankly, filthy, and he felt too inexperienced and reserved to put himself in that position. But in time, Hanschen had given him gentle guidance—asked him what about being on the receiving end was appealing to him, and eased him into trying those things himself. Eventually Ernst had become more comfortable, and although he was not free of inhibitions, he willingly engaged in oral sex with more frequency, and allowed Hans more liberties during the act itself.

Still, Ernst had never spent inside Hans’ mouth, nor had Ernst let him spill inside his—though body fluids were a natural part of sexual intercourse, that particular aspect was a line he was not yet ready to cross. Hans had gotten used to signaling his lover when he got too close, giving Ernst time to draw away and pull Hanschen tight against the line of his body until he shuddered with his release. And that was all well and good—until one time he cut it too close, didn’t tell Ernst to pull off until his climax was already building at the base of his erection, past the point that he could hold it off.

His desperate clutching at Ernst’s shoulder was warning enough, and the boy managed to disconnect his mouth from Hanschen’s cock in time. But there was not enough notice for Ernst to move away. Hans groaned and clenched as his orgasm hit him, and through his half-closed eyes he just barely noticed his release splatter across Ernst’s chin and cheek, his face still hovering inches from Hanschen’s body.

Ernst’s eyes automatically shut to prevent fluid from getting into places it shouldn’t be; when the moment had passed he blinked them open, his expression shocked and flustered. He slowly wiped his arm across his face until it was relatively clean, then turned towards Hanschen—only to find his lover’s face buried in the pillow. “…Hans?” he asked tentatively, unsure what the other boy’s reaction actually was since he could not see his expression. He laid his hand on Hanschen’s shoulder, and watched as he only pressed his face further into the bed. Ernst sighed. “Hanschen, love, look at me.”

Hans peeked out from beneath the pillow. His face was flushed bright scarlet, eyes wide and painfully embarrassed. “I am so sorry,” he breathed. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Ernst blinked again, shocked for a different reason now. It was difficult to embarrass Hans, really embarrass him, but he looked profoundly ashamed of himself now. Ernst rubbed his thumb gently on his shoulder again. “No, of course you didn’t,” he soothed. “It’s all right, love. You haven’t done such a terrible thing.”

Now Hans looked utterly perplexed. “Did you…did you enjoy it?”

“Not particularly,” Ernst conceded. “Nor did you, I’d reckon.” 

Hans cringed. “I have heard that there are some who find such a thing satisfying. But not me. It is so… _territorial_. Such a base desire, to mark another in that way.” He cast his eyes over Ernst’s face, and then his eyes widened again, his hand twitching upwards as if to touch. “You’ve, um…you’ve missed a bit.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Ernst, overcome by the ridiculousness of the situation, snorted and burst into giggles. His mirth surprised Hans into laughter himself; when Ernst dropped his head onto Hanschen’s shoulder, he moved his hand up to cradle his scalp. Once their merriment had run its course, Hans used that same hand to grab onto his lover’s hair and gently tug his face back up, scrutinizing again and then wiping away the stray drop or two of ejaculate that remained on his skin. Finally he kissed Ernst’s nose, sweet and affectionate. “Much better,” he said resolutely.

Ernst leaned down and bestowed a quick kiss on Hanschen’s lips. “You needn’t worry,” he said. “I know I am rather easily shocked, but I’m very little offended.” 

A rush of warmth ran through Hans, and he kissed Ernst again, nuzzling their noses together after they broke apart. He laughed a little, sheepishly. “Do you disdain me, for being so careful of your sensibilities?” he asked, although there was no real question in it.

Ernst settled more deeply on top of him and kept their faces close. “On the contrary,” he said, “I love you for it.” He traced a gentle line with his thumb over the crease of Hanschen’s eyelid. “Are you still unhappy?”

Hans shook his head, letting his lips turn up in a small smile. He cast his eyes downward. “You haven’t come,” he said. In truth, Ernst was barely aroused anymore. 

Now it was Ernst’s turn to shake his head. “I don’t need to,” he said.

Hans recognized the comment for what it was. He was content not to finish, but rather than refusing Hanschen outright, he had merely downplayed his own needs. That usually meant if Hanschen made advances, he would be receptive to them. “Nonsense,” Hans said with a wink. “Perhaps you will have more self-control than I.”

That was all the warning he gave Ernst before shifting his weight to reverse their positions and instantly swallowing him down. Half-hard as he was, the action was easy, although he drew back a bit to make room as he felt Ernst’s erection react to the sudden attention. There was something deeply thrilling about feeling Ernst swelling in his mouth; Hans recognized the filthiness of the thought, but could not bring himself to be ashamed of it. Ernst made a high, thin keening sound and squirmed, his hips twitching up in a barely-contained thrust. Curling his tongue along the width of his cock (as far around as he could reach from this angle) made Ernst shiver, so Hanschen did it again and again, feeling an excitement in the pit of his stomach as Ernst became visibly more and more aroused.

His ministrations wound Ernst up quickly; a few minutes of his clever tongue on the man’s erection, combined with gentle fingers stroking up the sensitive perineum, brought him close to the edge. Hans pulled almost completely off and sucked on just the head, _hard_ , repeating the action until Ernst went incoherent and his body was on the precipice of orgasm. Then he took him in deeper, just deep enough that when Ernst climaxed, most of the release went down Hanschen’s throat instead of filling his mouth. Ernst had never let him do this before, but Hanschen could not find it in himself to feel guilty for not asking his permission first. Sometimes Ernst needed to be coaxed and gently taught—and sometimes he needed to be _shown_.

He pulled off to have a better view of Ernst as he came down from the high. He looked glorious, but then again, Hanschen always thought so—especially in this heady post-coital haze. A tendril of come had dribbled out of his cock—apparently Hans had pulled off a moment too early and not caught it all—and clung to the shiny head, the erection softening against his leg. Ernst’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes dark. He was panting heavily.

“Good Lord,” Ernst breathed. He very rarely took the Lord’s name in vain, being a religious sort, so Hans knew he must have really stunned him.

Hanschen licked off the string of come he had missed, straight from the other man’s cock; he was hyper-sensitive there at the moment, and shuddered at the purposeful application of tongue in a spot still sparking with sensation. Hans’ expression of delight made it plain how much he enjoyed the reaction he was causing. After a deep breath, Ernst spoke again. “You are _quite_ wicked.”

Hanschen snorted. “Do you think so? Do you not find me chaste and pure, in this as in all things?”

His sarcasm provoked Ernst into a fit of giggles. “No,” he said affectionately, “I don’t. But chastity and purity are overrated with you. In this as in all things,” he added, parroting his words back with a hint of mischief.

“You could hardly bestow a higher compliment on me,” Hanschen said with an eyeroll and a grin, and he silenced Ernst’s helpless laughter with a sound kiss. When they parted for a shared breath, Hanschen murmured against Ernst’s lips, “How did it feel to come with my mouth on you?” Ernst said nothing, but the way his eyes went visibly dark, consumed by pupil, said everything Hans needed to know. A slow smile spread across his face. “Oh. You _liked_ it.”

Now it was Ernst’s turn to roll his eyes, although he was blushing too furiously to lend his exasperation any credence. “Is this your way of indicating you would like to be told you were right?” he asked.

“Oh, no, I am certain of that without your confirmation,” Hans teased. His palm came to run over Ernst’s still-damp but now soft cock, and though his body had fully come down from orgasm, Ernst still shivered at the intimate touch. “Would you prefer it if I had warned you first?” Hans asked, feeling the need to confirm now that the heat of the moment had passed.

“No,” Ernst replied with a small sigh. “It would only have brought it to the forefront of my mind, and I would have shied from it. As is too often the case when I do not remember to trust you with regard to my pleasure.”

Hans’ mischievous smile turned softer, gentler, at the admission. “I reckon the best way to learn trust is through acts of pleasure,” he said kindly.

Ernst returned his grin. “It is certainly the best way to ensure it is remembered,” he agreed before kissing him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments on Chapter 1! You all are brilliant.


	3. Don't Know It's There, But Without It I'm Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another first time, of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. Wow, guys. This chapter is a lot. I wrote these scenes a long time ago, shortly after I wrote the first chapter of the fic (which was drafted about 4 years ago- I just got around to _posting_ it now). There's a reference early in the chapter to Hans and Ernst's first attempt at penetrative sex post-first time, and once I had started posting the fic I set about trying to write that, but quickly found that I just couldn't get it to flow right. Turns out my original writing instincts to remove the scene were right all along!
> 
> Instead of that, you get this scene, which was a much longer and more complex animal than the one I was trying to write. So, um...enjoy! It's Hanschen's desires that are at play here, and I feel like I haven't explored that as much, but it feels like this is the place in the story to do it.

Three months later

_Stop sneaking into the washroom during class, the both of you. The Headmaster is starting to suspect that you are up to some mischief. Don’t let him find out what kind._

Hanschen stared at the note for a second, then snorted and passed it to Ernst, who had the delightful reaction of blushing scarlet and looking chagrined. They both turned to look at Melchior, who simply raised an eyebrow at them and nodded with his head at the note. Hanschen shrugged. Melchior raised the other eyebrow, and they both turned back around before their behavior garnered the attention of the teacher.

Hanschen supposed their antics had not been particularly subtle. They had both been mysteriously disappearing from lessons for bathroom breaks, or being late to class for a variety of fabricated reasons. The true result, though, was that they always ended up in the washroom— sometimes making out, but in a couple of memorable instances, letting things progress even further. Hanschen could never get Ernst to instigate any such occasions; usually they resulted in him doing a great deal of flailing and flushing and _coming_ alarmingly quickly, but the whole thing was still vastly enjoyable to Hans. (He could remind Ernst that his participation was doing nothing to encourage him to stop, but feared that Ernst might _actually_ put an end to their midday trysts if it was brought to his attention, so he kept that knowledge close.) If the Headmaster was starting to notice their repeated and conjoined absence records, however, then he supposed they should be more careful. A conversation with the school’s administration or either of their own parents on this subject would be extremely unpleasant.

A few weeks after their reconciliation, they’d had sex again— properly this time, with Hanschen paying due attention and Ernst giving him considerable feedback on the results. Hans took more time with his fingers and his mouth, keeping up until Ernst was right on the edge, then giving him a choice of whether to come that way or let him inside. He had honestly thought Ernst would choose to continue the way they had been going; instead, the other boy all but begged him to penetrate him, and Hanschen had to shut his eyes and clutch the bedsheets as prevention from coming himself. He could now see all the signs that Ernst had been uncomfortable the first time, and knew how to avoid them. (“If you’d just _told_ me what to expect before you did it, I would not have been so nervous,” Ernst had said, so the next time, Hanschen described each step in such startling detail that he nearly drove Ernst crazy with desire.) 

It wasn’t until Hanschen watched Ernst seize with an orgasm while being penetrated that he realized the other man hadn’t come the first time they’d been in this position. Ernst had neglected to mention this slight among the many ways Hans had been careless of him, and it left a bad enough taste in Hanschen’s mouth that he almost didn’t come himself. Ernst noticed his shock and the way he recoiled through the fog of his orgasm, and frowned. “What is it?” he said in complete confusion; when Hanschen told him what he had realized, Ernst took his face in his hands and said, “For the last time, it is behind us now. If I hear another word about it, you’ll get nothing from me for a week.” Hanschen said no more on the subject.

Now that a few months had gone by, though, the act of making love in all its many forms was no longer a foreign concept to Ernst. He and Hanschen had, gently and carefully, experimented with one another extensively; Hanschen knew a great deal about sex, but most of it only in theory, and the two of them quickly made up the difference in practice. Once they had tried all the permutations they could think of or were familiar with, they learned each other specifically, growing more familiar with their reactions and preferences until they began to know one another inside and out. 

Ernst had learned that, where he had once been reserved about sexual things, Hanschen could now make him beg with alarming fervor when he was turned on enough. There were sensitive spots on his body that he hadn’t even known he had— the small of his back, for example, made him convulse with arousal (mainly because the rare instances where Hans had let his tongue dip lower, wetting and opening an area he couldn’t imagine someone wanting to put their mouth on, had conditioned him to react potently to lips so close to his ass). Hanschen, too, had his own sensitive spots; he loved the gentle flutter of lips in the crook of his neck, and for some reason, fingers caressing his ankles made him arch and pant if the contact was prolonged. Ernst did not quite understand these reactions, but treasured them every time they were his to behold, and constantly sought to discover new areas of responsiveness in his lover.

Mostly, though, he enjoyed curling up with Hanschen on the bed, or any surface really. Feeling his lover’s body against his own and being able to exchange casual and easy displays of affection was a rush almost as potent as their more blatantly sexual activities. He was still in awe of the idea that this physical contact was readily available to him, something he could both give and take without reservation. He, an awkward, inexperienced boy, had a handsome young man in his arms on a regular basis, as eager to provide him with affection as Ernst was to reciprocate it. Though he knew how clichéd it sounded, he simply couldn’t believe his luck.

He let that slip one day when Hans’ lips were trailing up his neck, leaving little nips and wet indents until Ernst curled fingers in his hair and panted with the slow build of desire it caused in him. “I don’t know how I got so lucky,” he had breathed, the words out of his mouth before he had even consciously thought them.

Hans paused, then sucked a harder kiss into the skin under his jaw, soothing the bite with his tongue in such a way that Ernst knew there would be a little red love mark there by the next morning. “On the contrary,” Hanschen had mouthed against the skin he’d just bruised, “I am the one who has been blessed with luck.” The compliment made Ernst shiver, and though he did not feel he deserved it, at the same time he could think of no way to refute it. 

Despite the turmoil that had been so prevalent in their lives and the lives of their friends, Ernst and Hanschen were happy. They were somehow able to keep public displays of affection to a minimum— “Good to see you still have some sense of self-preservation, at least,” Melchior said in response to that— but were insufferably handsy and affectionate when among friends. The girls cooed over their budding relationship and all its expressions; the boys were not so forthcoming, but they often saw their male friends watching them surreptitiously with interest out of the corner of their eyes. They had no resistance or prejudice from any of their friends— the boys were just unable to imagine what a physical relationship with a man would be like, and were carefully observing them, curious but unsure. 

After the tragedies in their circle of friends, everyone was simply glad to see someone happy, to see someone’s relationship grow. Even those who were less openly supportive of Hans and Ernst’s preferences guarded the secrecy of their romance with a fierce protectiveness. If the truth about them came out, society would punish them for it, and the consequences would be dire. They could not afford to lose another chance at happiness among them. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was not only Ernst who found that their budding sexual relationship awakened new longings within him. After about two months together, Hanschen started to have dreams. That part was not unusual—he had been having erotic dreams since he was old enough to understand the concept of sex, and Ernst had been featuring in them since before they became a couple—but he found that now, his place in them was beginning to change. Hanschen woke gasping a few nights a week, tingling with the residual image of Ernst claiming him sexually. Of Ernst _taking_ him. 

It was a fantasy he’d entertained before, but had pushed to the back of his mind. Now it came rushing back in full force. But while Ernst was learning to be on the giving end of sexual acts with Hanschen as well as the receiving end, he doubted that penetration was in line with Ernst’s tastes. It would be awkward and uncomfortable for them both if he expressed a desire that Ernst would either feel compelled to provide against his own inclinations, or would feel guilty about refusing. So Hanschen tried to push the urge back from whence it came, frustrated when his dreams did not respond to his efforts at repression.

It came up anyway, without his even realizing it, after a bout of particularly vigorous sex that left Ernst fucked-out and exhausted on the bed. “I may be mistaken,” Hanschen said afterward, in a voice that suggested he was sure he was not, “but I do not think I have ever seen you enjoy anything quite so much.” Ernst blushed a deep scarlet, and Hanschen peppered his face with light, tender, happy kisses until he laughed and the flush subsided a little.

“I never thought I would want... _that_ ,” Ernst admitted, chasing Hanschen’s flitting fingers so he could kiss them, and then pressing the same urgent kiss to his partner’s lips.

Hanschen returned the kiss eagerly, then pulled away enough to murmur, “What, to be taken hard?” Ernst blushed a little less prominently and nodded, unable to say the words but acknowledging they were true. “Why, Ernst, we all have our particular preferences, the ways of being with another that please us most. They may not always be the ones we predict. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You have chosen a glorious favorite, if you ask me.”

“So far,” Ernst said, and Hanschen chuckled and agreed “Yes, so far,” to acknowledge that they had not tried everything yet and a new favorite might one day be discovered. Ernst looked at him fondly, fingers tracing aimless patterns over his neck and shoulder, and said, “And what is yours, Hanschen?”

Hans had not anticipated the question being turned back on him, but the minute it was put to him, he immediately both knew the answer and wished it had not been asked. Ernst saw the conflict in his face, the way the question gave him pause. He kissed his jaw gently. “Come now, Hans. If I have nothing to be embarrassed about, you certainly haven’t.”

Hans still looked uncomfortable; Ernst did not push him to speak, but he continued to hold him close and rub soothing circles into his skin. Hans got the feeling that, despite Ernst’s silence, he had not let this go and was still waiting for a response. Finally Hanschen said, “I am not embarrassed, love. I just...do not want to make you feel obligated if it is not something you want.”

Ernst kissed his cheek. “Tell me anyway,” he said. “I would not have you feel you must keep it a secret from me.”

Hanschen let his breath escape in a small sigh. “I want to know what it would be like,” he finally said in a slow and hesitant voice, “for you to be inside of me.” Ernst’s fingers stopped moving, but he stayed close, listening. Hans cast his gaze to the side, unable to look him in the eyes. “I imagine it, hell, I have _dreamt_ about it. It is not something I have done before. But I think I would enjoy it, very much.” He tensed up, shoulders clenched. “I know you do not wish to, please do not think I am pressuring you—“

Ernst finally shushed him, stopping the anxious flow of words with a press of fingers against his lips. “Hans,” he said with complete tenderness, tilting his chin up so they were looking at one another. “You are so worried.” Hans’ uneasy eyes said all he needed to know. “You’re right, I am not ready to do this with you yet. But that does not mean I will never be. You never need to be ashamed of wanting such a thing.”

Hans sighed, but did not look away this time. “I just do not wish to make you do something you are uncomfortable with. I can wait, Ernst, until you are ready.”

“Good,” Ernst said with a smile, “because you will have to.” He was smirking slightly, but his eyes were nothing but kind. “When it does happen,” he continued, “I will make it good for you, Hanschen, no matter what. It is special to you, and you should enjoy it. It will be all the better for us both if we wait until I am ready.”

Hanschen was stopped still by the love he saw in his friend’s eyes, the utter acceptance and support conveyed in them. He kissed the side of Ernst’s mouth gently in thanks. “It _is_ special to me,” he agreed. “I want to share it only with you. Thank you for understanding.”

Their hands tangled together underneath the covers, sides pressed against one another, Hanschen’s face nuzzled into Ernst’s neck. He had worried momentarily that the serious discussion would ruin what must, for Ernst, have been a magnificent afterglow, but Ernst seemed as sated and happy as he had been in the moments after climaxing. Love radiated off of him, and it made Hanschen feel dizzy. He had given Ernst perhaps a greater pleasure today than any he had experienced before, an accomplishment which made him feel warm and pleased, and then had confessed a deeply held desire and not been scorned. The dual gratification made him feel happy and safe and secure in their relationship. He curled into Ernst’s body, delighting in even the most casual point of contact between them. Ernst made a contented sound and huffed out a breath over Hanschen’s hair, rubbing the man’s side languidly and letting him cuddle up against him. 

\---

It was only about three weeks later when the moment came. The two of them had settled back into their normal habits, both in and out of the bedroom (although if Hanschen fucked Ernst a little more vigorously some of the time, no one said anything about it: Ernst’s obvious enjoyment was statement enough). It was afternoon now, and they had been trying to study, but Hanschen’s kisses to Ernst’s neck— administered as rewards when he correctly answered a question they had been reviewing— had become dirtier and dirtier, until Ernst finally yelped at the playful bite of teeth and grabbed at Hans to throw him down onto the bed, attacking him with fingers on ticklish spots and a firm weight on his lower body to hold him still. (Hanschen had several more inches of height and a greater proportion of muscle than Ernst, and could dislodge him if he chose, but did not do so; a dominant Ernst was a beautiful thing, and Hanschen longed to be claimed.)

Their play-fighting turned to kisses, more lazy and gentle than rough and heated. It was so gentle, in fact, that Hans doubted for a while whether Ernst actually intended to take it any farther. But after a while, when he had begun to no longer expect anything beyond a sweet make-out session, he felt Ernst’s clever fingers at the clasp of his trousers, working the fastening with an unhurried movement. Hanschen made a pleased sound and twitched his hips up; the eagerness made Ernst laugh against his lips, and when Hanschen opened his eyes to look at him, he saw the man’s own eyes were dark. 

Ernst finally succeeded in undoing his pants and climbed off Hanschen for long enough to let him shuck them off, starting to get rid of his own at the same time. Once free of his pants, Hanschen reached over to help Ernst, starting to press him down into the mattress as he did so— but Ernst resisted, using what leverage he had to change their positions and return Hanschen to his original place on the bed. _All right,_ Hans thought, _so he wants to be taken while on top._ He could certainly handle that. Ernst had never ridden him before, but they had talked about it, and the idea of him undulating there had been extremely arousing.

Their shirts came off in a tangle of limbs that almost left them joined together by their shirt fabric; the confusion caused the moment to be broken in a fit of giggles, and when Ernst finally freed himself of his clothes with a triumphant sound, pulling the remainder of Hanschen’s off with it, he cast it aside hurriedly, in a rush to join their mouths together again. Hanschen drew him in eagerly, letting his hands run indulgently over Ernst’s body and feeling the other man do the same to him. 

And then...and then Ernst’s hand dipped lower, and lower still, sneaking down his thigh and past his half-hard erection to graze at a place even more sacred and private. Hans went very, very still. “Ernst,” he choked out in a tight burst of sound.

Ernst looked at him. “What?”

There was a pleading desperation in Hans’ eyes when he met the other boy’s gaze. “Please,” he said, “do not tempt me. Do not tease me with that.” He was a bit red in the cheeks, nervous and flushed and vulnerable-looking. Ernst leaned down to kiss the expression off his face.

“And if I was not teasing?” he asked, very quietly.

He had rarely, if ever, seen Hanschen struck quite that dumb. He stared at Ernst with wide eyes, his breathing quickening in a barely perceptible rush, and then he finally whispered, “Are you?” In response, Ernst leaned down to mouth at the skin joining his neck and jaw, simultaneously dragging the pad of a finger across the delicate skin of his opening. Hanschen shuddered and was begging in an instant. “Oh, _God_ ,” he moaned throatily. “Please, Ernst, I am ready. I am yours if you will have me.”

Ernst could do nothing but clasp Hanschen’s face in both of his hands and kiss him soundly, lips pressing and dragging together in a desperate slide of contact. It was too much and not enough, and Ernst could feel Hanschen hard and eager against his hip, clearly holding himself back but not able to wait much longer. Ernst pulled away slightly and nibbled at Hans’ lower lip, then said, “I may need your help, to— I’ve never done this, you know—“

Hanschen smiled against his lips. “I hope I have made you _somewhat_ familiar with the act itself, after all this time,” he said cheekily, fingers trailing across Ernst’s shoulders. “Enough for you to be acquainted with the logistics, at least.”

Ernst smiled back, gently. “Yes, all right, you have done well in that respect,” he said with a mix of fondness and mock-exasperation. He ground his hips slightly against Hanschen’s; the other man groaned and struggled to keep himself still. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I only know how to perform one half of such an act. This is different.”

“It will not hurt,” Hanschen said, shushing him with a gentle hand carding through his hair. “You are so careful with me, and you will not stop being so now. I will help you do what needs to be done.” He kissed Ernst’s forehead tenderly, and then asked the question he did not want to ask, for fear of the answer. “Ernst. Are you sure you are ready? We can stop if you like. You don’t have to do this.”

Ernst felt Hanschen’s nervous tension as it gathered in his shoulders; he kissed one of them gently. “I want to,” he said. “I want to bring that pleasure to you. I just fear that I will do a poor job of it.”

“But you want to,” Hanschen reiterated, wanting to confirm his intentions— and, if he was honest, wanting the thrill of hearing the words again.

Ernst smiled again. “Yes,” he said, peppering a few light kisses to his jaw and chin. “I want to.”

Hanschen gave him a smile of his own. “Then give me the lubricant on the table.”

Ernst did as he asked, but his expression was puzzled. “But I thought—“

“Yes, but if you are to learn,” Hanschen said, his fingers wrapping around the lube, “perhaps a practical demonstration is in order.” Ernst watched him as he dribbled some of the oily liquid onto his fingers, and then dipped down between his legs, running back and forth over the entrance before adding more pressure to his hole, easing his way in.

He had done this before, when pleasuring himself— slipped a finger or two in, teasing around and enjoying the feel of being penetrated by something. It was an action he always took pleasure in, but he found that it became immensely more exciting knowing that Ernst was watching him. He let out a tight groan, wiggling the tip of his finger around slightly to stretch himself out a little, and then slipped further in, almost to the second knuckle. Ernst was watching him with wide eyes; he had never seen penetration from this angle before. (The look on his face made Hanschen wonder if Ernst might like to use a mirror in their lovemaking at some point; the idea was an intriguing and highly arousing one, but he decided to hold off on asking about it, afraid of getting distracted from the task at hand.) 

After stretching himself sufficiently with one finger, he added another, knowing he couldn’t get the proper angle to really bring himself pleasure with only one. Ernst’s fingers were twitching on his thigh in a jerky stroking motion, like he wanted to touch but didn’t know where to put his hands. Hanschen eased his lubricant-damp fingers in as far as they could go without straining himself and crooked to the spot he knew well; the contact with such a sensitive part of himself caused him to whine and bite his lip, breath quickening and muscles twitching underneath Ernst’s hand.

When he heard his lover’s breathing going harsh, Hanschen knew that Ernst was no longer content to sit as a silent observer. He opened his mostly-closed eyes and blinked up at him. “Do you want to have a go?” he asked, trying to convey in his expression that it would be perfectly all right if Ernst said no.

Ernst looked dumbfounded for a second, and then— to Hanschen’s surprise— he nodded. Carefully Hans withdrew his fingers, and then took Ernst’s hand by the wrist, dripped some lubricant into his palm, and coated his friend’s fingers with it. “You won’t have to push hard to get me to let you in,” he said quietly, guiding Ernst’s fingers to his entrance. “Just wait until I open up for you, and then press in a little at a time. I already started preparing myself, so you don’t have to worry about hurting me.” Ernst nodded again, looking just a bit nervous, and Hanschen leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Don’t worry,” he reiterated, looking at Ernst with complete sincerity.

As he had dictated, Ernst only had to rest his slick finger against Hanschen’s entrance; he eagerly relaxed to grant him access, and Ernst’s finger immediately slid in a couple of centimeters. Ernst seemed astonished by the grip of Hanschen against his finger, but Hanschen was too wound up to let him stay frozen where he was for long. He bore down a little more, encouraging Ernst to go deeper; when one finger was in as far as it would go, Ernst automatically started moving it without being told, feeling around in this new place and stretching him out a bit more. 

Ernst could get better purchase inside him from this angle than Hanschen typically could with his own hand; with an idle crook of his finger, he grazed over Hans’ prostate. Hans gasped and squirmed down on the finger before he could fully pull it away, the renewed pressure a delicious thrill pooling in his groin. Ernst blinked rapidly, looking simultaneously pleased and astonished. Taking his own initiative for the first time, he twitched back up inside him to rub that spot again, encouraged by the thoroughly debauched sounds Hanschen made every time the contact was re-established. They did that for a minute, before Hanschen let out a whimper— a _whimper_ — and said breathily, “I think I’m ready for two fingers, if you can, Ernst.”

The words were undemanding, but there was a tone of urgency underneath; his need for this was more pressing than he was trying to let on. Ernst breathed out heavily and withdrew from Hanschen to slick two fingers with lube, but he paused before pushing back in, looking at Hans with uncertainty in his eyes. Hanschen knew why the sudden hesitation; two fingers together were larger than just one, and Ernst wasn’t sure how to go about entering him that way. So Hans took him by the wrist again and arranged his fingers so they were pressed together, then guided him so that the initial entry stretched him enough to accommodate both without straining him. He bit his lip to contain the hiss of the stretch, not wanting to alarm Ernst by making him think he was hurting him. 

Ernst noticed anyway, but to his credit, he did not shy away. He leaned down to place gentle, light kisses in a line from Hanschen’s cheek over to his mouth, swallowing the small noises he made as he eased himself in deeper. Without being told, he scissored his fingers to stretch him out more, and Hans rewarded him with an appreciative sound. Ernst stayed shallow, focused more on preparing him than pleasuring him, but Hanschen made sure to keep up a steady stream of encouragement so he would not begin to doubt. Finally he said, “Ernst, I’m ready. Please.”

Ernst acted before he could lose his nerve. He let Hanschen drizzle the liquid onto his erection, making a small sound at the stimulation as he spread the lubricant thoroughly over him, and then moved to crouch overtop of Hans, who lifted his legs to wrap around Ernst’s lower body and make his hips more accessible. This change in positioning was enough to allow Ernst to align with his entrance, and with Hanschen’s hand on his cock, the man guided his partner gently in. 

Already the sensation was unbelievable, the fact that he’d wanted it for so long making the actual event overwhelming. He squirmed around a little, and accidentally dislodged Ernst; the withdrawal made him whine, but Ernst acted on instinct and guided himself back in. Hanschen took a second through the foggy stupor of his arousal to feel proud of his boyfriend’s newfound proficiency before he focused on bearing down on Ernst, slowly taking him in until he was all the way there. 

Ernst let his head fall forward as he breathed through the intense stimulation of being surrounded by Hanschen on all sides. The tightness, the heat, the pressure of it was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Briefly his mind connected this sensation to ones he was more familiar with, so that he could now imagine what it felt like to penetrate as well as to be penetrated; his mouth fell open for a second as a rush of arousal went through him at the thought, and his head dropped to Hanschen’s chest momentarily while he got his breath back.

It was then that he noticed Hans’ own breathing. His chest was moving in quick, gasping breaths, but that did not strike him as so unusual— except there was something different, ragged-sounding and harsh, about them. Frowning, he looked up, and stopped still at the sight. Hanschen was crying. 

It was just a few tears against his cheeks, not outright sobbing, and he didn’t look to be in any pain— Ernst knew Hanschen would have no trouble stopping him if it was painful— but he was alarmed all the same, and breathed out, “Oh, no, Hanschen, let me—“ He was starting to pull out at the same time, but Hanschen made a small vulnerable sound and grabbed his arm to keep him there.

“Don’t you dare,” Hanschen said vehemently, then continued in a less urgent voice, “I don’t want you to—“

Ernst’s frown deepened, puzzled and concerned for his lover. “But you’re distressed,” he said, wiping a tear away from the man’s cheek to illustrate this. “What is troubling you, then? I’ll do nothing more until you tell me.” His body was crying out to him to move, to do something, but he remained resolutely still. 

Hanschen sniffed back the remnants of his tears— Ernst saw that he was not crying now, not in earnest at least— and let Ernst dry his cheeks with the edge of the bedsheet. “I am not troubled,” he clarified, offering a watery smile at Ernst’s dubious expression. “I’m just a bit...overcome.”

“Overcome?” Ernst repeated, still sounding unsure, but he was beginning to understand. This was a new experience for Hans, and one he had desired for some time. If their switch in positions had been a rush for Ernst, it must be much the same, if not more so, for Hanschen now that he was on the bottom. Sometimes all the buildup could get to be too much. This was merely an outlet, an expression of his inner feelings.

Ernst leaned in to distract him slightly with tiny nips and darts of his tongue against the sensitive underside of Hans’ lip. Hanschen moaned a little and returned the kiss as best he could. Ernst murmured reassurances into his mouth. “I’m going to make sure this is good for you,” he promised. “I want you to enjoy it, Hans. I want you to love it.”

Hanschen’s eyes on him were somehow wild and steady at the same time. “If you were to touch me right now,” he said, “even a little, I would almost certainly lose control and finish immediately and it would still— _still_ , Ernst— be so enjoyable as to be worth it.” The shocking thing, Ernst realized as he looked into Hans’ eyes, was that Hans was completely sincere as he said this. Hans was telling him that he could come right that second—just from this, without Ernst moving at all-- and still he would be satisfied. There was something utterly gratifying about that, and Ernst felt enormously appreciative of it. He kissed Hanschen soundly, hoping to convey that appreciation; Hanschen gave back into the kiss as much as he got.

He kept kissing Hanschen and nuzzling against him until he calmed down a little; as arousing as it was to know how affected his lover was by this, he did want him to last long enough to appreciate the full experience. He remained as still as he could until Hanschen’s breathing evened out. Hans’ hips rocked up slightly to encourage him to move, but while the movement was unconscious, it had none of the wild urgency of before; it was more permissive, allowing Ernst to finally fuck him properly.

So Ernst did. He drew back out a little, giving himself room to move, and then pushed back in— the movement gentle, but insistent at the same time. Hanschen groaned and forced himself back toward Ernst, everything in his body asking Ernst to move harder, or faster. Ernst didn’t feel comfortable going at him really hard yet, but he wrapped his hands around Hanschen’s hips, using his dominant position to angle Hans’ body as he wished and gain better purchase inside him. The noise Hanschen made signaled unmistakably that he welcomed such manhandling. He was incredibly responsive to each push of Ernst’s erection inside him, the moans getting higher-pitched and more desperate the more they nudged against his prostate. 

They were moving together in a haphazard, unpredictable way, their rhythm erratic and ever-changing as positions shifted and one or the other of them took control of their movements. Both kept trying to kiss, wanting to feel the wet slide of lips and the vibration of moans lost in each other’s mouths, but could not seem to stay attached that way for more than a second or two; their lips kept coming together and then losing one another when the urge to make noise or the angle of a thrust dislodged them. Still they surged toward one another, graceless and uncoordinated, riding out the momentum of their desire more than anything else. It did not need to be some sort of elegant, perfectly timed performance; this was pure and right and so deliciously good just as it was.

Ernst became aware, in a steadily progressive way, that he wasn’t going to be able to last much longer. The stimulation of being inside Hanschen was gaining on him— at first he had been so focused on Hanschen’s enjoyment, and his reaction to being penetrated, that he had barely even been aware of how much it was affecting him too. Now, though, he sped up his movements ever so incrementally, the change causing Hanschen to groan and clutch at his arms to spur him on. Hanschen’s other hand came down to fondle at his balls briefly; that hand then moved to Hanschen’s own erection, as he rushed to bring himself off as close to Ernst’s orgasm as possible. The sight was what finally brought Ernst to the edge; his mouth fell open, and as he saw the first white spurts of fluid pulsing out of Hanschen’s dick and dripping down his hand, he managed a few staggered, haphazard thrusts before shuddering with his own climax. 

He collapsed onto Hanschen as soon as he was done, feeling weak with the aftershocks of his orgasm and unable to hold himself up any longer. He heard a sniffle and a hiccupped breath, and glanced up to see that Hanschen had tears in his eyes again, a couple escaping to wet his cheeks. This time, he was not alarmed to see the man crying, now that he knew the cause. He smiled consolingly, and Hanschen laughed sheepishly, a wet but unmistakably happy sound.

“There now, sweet one,” Ernst said, tenderly rubbing the pad of his thumb against Hanschen’s cheeks and down to his soft lower lip. “You’re all right.” The term of endearment fell easily from his lips, and he could almost see the thrill of hearing it run through Hanschen’s body; certainly his eyes went warm and happy, and he leaned into the touch as Ernst moved to press his whole palm against the hinge of jaw and neck. Ernst stared fondly down at him. “You will not be doing this every time we make love this way, will you?” he asked in a teasing voice.

Hans gave a little laugh, clogged with the remnants of tears, a small sniffle hanging on to the edge of it. “I expect not,” he responded, and though obviously overcome with emotion, his voice and body were relaxed. “I have no urge to on a normal basis. I feel very silly right now.”

Ernst noticed the faint blush tinting his lover’s cheeks. He was used to being the one in that predicament— he blushed at the drop of a hat as a matter of nature, but more so in bed because he was so inexperienced, not yet truly comfortable in his own skin. Hanschen was not the same, and it occurred to Ernst that he might be subtly admitting to more embarrassment than he was letting on. Ernst shifted down to cover his face with gentle kisses, feeling absurdly delighted by the individual sighs he drew out of Hans with each one. In between them he murmured, “You are not being silly at all, love. In a way, it’s a sort of compliment.” He paused in his path across Hanschen’s face. “Thank you,” he said, and his words were sincere.

Hanschen looked at him incredulously. “You are thanking _me_?” he said with a low chuckle. “It should be the reverse. I have wanted this for so long. Thank you for giving it to me.” He grabbed one of Ernst’s hands and laced their fingers together, the other coming to the back of Ernst’s neck to direct his next kiss firmly onto Hanschen’s mouth. 

Ernst cleaned him up with almost devotional care, taking on the leading role that was usually Hanschen’s to perform. The other man lay languidly on the bed, muscles twitching a little when Ernst grazed over sensitive spots, but otherwise still and sated. Once Hanschen was wiped clean and made comfortable, Ernst curled close and took him in his arms. Hanschen turned around so they were facing one another and nuzzled lovingly into his neck, his breaths warming Ernst’s jaw in gentle gusts. It was wonderfully intimate, everything that Ernst treasured about having someone in his life to love. His desires had been so foreign to him at first that even the concept of such a relationship was simultaneously unimaginable and deeply valuable. How lucky he was, he thought, that Hanschen had returned his feelings and been willing to do this with him. 

“Was it everything you thought it would be?” Ernst murmured, his hand coming up to clutch at the hairs on the back of Hanschen’s head as the man wetly kissed the skin of his neck.

Hanschen made little response other than a contented hum at first, and the affection in that sound was already all Ernst needed to know. But he spoke again after a moment, lips still brushing against his skin. “And more,” he said quietly. And then, with less certainty, “Did it please you too?”

Ernst pulled just far enough away to angle Hanschen’s head so he was looking at him; Hanschen let a small sound escape at being guided in this way, a whimper that conveyed that he liked the dominant handling. Ernst quietly filed that information away— _tug on his hair, he likes that_ — before pushing it aside. “Do you doubt it?” he asked, the look on his face incredulous.

Hanschen chuckled. “I suppose not,” he said, reaching around to grab Ernst’s ass possessively. “You seemed happy enough.”

Ernst leaned forward until their noses were touching. “So do not question, if you do not doubt,” he said without any real reprimand, before pressing their lips together in a languid kiss. “I wish I had been ready before now. I did not know what I was missing until tonight.”

Hanschen laughed against his lips, sounding delighted and pleased. “Does that mean I may hope for a similar pleasure in the future?” He looked altogether too hopeful to have been truly certain of Ernst’s willingness to repeat the act again.

Ernst looked him in the eyes, hoping to convey seriousness in his gaze. Hanschen noticed it and sobered, looking at him intensely. “If you want me to,” he said, “I will be happy to bring you pleasure in whatever way I can. Including this, if you like. I loved seeing you so satisfied tonight, and knowing I was the one to do that. It made me feel...well, proud, I suppose.”

Hanschen’s face lit up. “I love you,” he breathed, brushing his fingers tenderly over Ernst’s cheek. “You beautiful man.” The praise made Ernst flush, but he was getting better at accepting such compliments. He felt himself warm at hearing it, letting the validation sweep through him and make him feel good rather than awkward.

“I love you too,” he said, giving Hanschen a quick peck on the lips. “Now if you are contented, darling, go to sleep. I think a rest is well earned for both of us.”

Hanschen cuddled in even closer to his chest, a smile on his face so warm and happy that it made Ernst swell with pride at having caused it. “Love you,” he said again, so absently that it was almost like he didn’t realize he was saying it, or had forgotten he had already said it once before. Ernst laid a kiss on the top of Hanschen’s head, soothing him further towards sleep. In minutes Hans was dozing quietly, the picture of relaxation. Ernst watched him for a while, and then let his own eyelids slip shut, and was asleep in an instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I so incapable of writing a scene where neither of these two is awkward or embarrassed or uncomfortable? OMG. I guess this is what happens when you try to make sex realistically imperfect while also being, well, sexy.
> 
> Also, as we get further into this story, a reminder that you're welcome to prompt me for things you'd like to see! I have plenty of material still stored up for these two, but I also welcome your ideas and suggestions. <3


	4. Relax, Take It Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the art of self-pleasure is explored and practiced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter of a chapter than the last one this time, but I wanted to get at least one more scene in before the next one I have in mind, and this bit presented itself. Chapter title from the song by the same name by MIKA. 
> 
> This chapter could be read as simple garden-variety sexual anxiety on Ernst's part, but you could potentially also interpret Ernst as demisexual here, I suppose!
> 
> One last thing before we start: I just want to say an enormous thank-you to everyone who's left such lovely, nice comments on the fic so far. Your kind words really mean a lot to me. I don't write professionally, although sometimes I consider trying to shift into that sort of career field, and this past week I was feeling sad about projects I have in my head that would be good professional works but that I'm just not ready to get off the ground. I felt like people would really love them and here I was, not writing these ideas, not making a difference. But then I would get a comment on this fic, and I realized that I was already writing something that impacted people in that way. So your positive feedback is really valued. <3 Thank you.

Ernst, on the whole, rarely masturbated. All manner of sexual activity had been an uncomfortable prospect for most of his adolescence, so much that he could barely be brought to touch himself when he was aroused; consequently he had rarely done it, and never without feeling guilty afterward. Then came Hans, and with him a sexual awakening simultaneously awkward and powerful. Over time and with committed attention, Ernst became used to sex in general— though not always confident, he was willing and eager to learn, and slowly began to enjoy himself with more sureness. Still, though, he did not find himself more likely to engage in self-pleasure. Now that he had this fulfilling relationship, if he desired sexual contact he merely had to seek out Hans. Having a partner largely outweighed the instinct to masturbate.

In the nine months they had now been together, Hans and Ernst had only been able to spend the night in each other’s bed a handful of times, and never with the house to themselves—with their parents and families nearly always close by, there was not enough privacy for them to comfortably share intimacies. Sometimes, if they made love while the house was empty in the afternoons, they might fall asleep afterward, only to find themselves scrambling for their clothes and hurriedly setting the bed to rights at the sound of movement outside the door. True solitude, then, was immensely valuable, and they held it in high esteem. So when Ernst’s parents went away for the weekend to help a distant cousin care for her newborn, there was no question that Hanschen would be spending the night. As the room darkened around them, they curled close, giddy at the sensation of their nakedness pressed together beneath the covers, and at the peace and quiet surrounding them.

Ernst awoke in the early hours of the morning, suddenly, from a dream which had left him feeling warm and turned on. He could not quite remember the events his mind had conjured, but remembered the warmth of skin pressing against skin, the throb of arousal pulsing through his blood. He lay in bed for a moment before noticing that his body had responded in real life just as it had in his dream. Hesitating briefly, Ernst let his hand drift beneath the covers, grazing over the firmness between his legs. He meant only to feel for a moment, but the touch made his desire spike just a little further, and so he wrapped his fingers around himself in earnest, biting his lip at the way it increased the sensation.

He still felt awkward about touching himself. It felt wanton in a strange way, self-indulgent, whereas sex with Hans carried a deeper weight in his mind. But it seemed ludicrous to wake Hans up for such an inconsequential thing, amenable as he knew his partner would probably be to the idea. So he continued the firm pressure of his hand on himself, anticipating the quick sense of relief that would soon follow.

To speed up the process, Ernst glanced over at Hans; the sight of him usually made his blood race a little faster when he was in this state. What he saw, though, made him still his hand momentarily in surprise. He’d thought Hans was still asleep, but when he looked over the man’s eyes were open, fixed intently on Ernst. His pupils were dilated, and Ernst could see the growing evidence of an erection in the line of the sheets against his lower half, but otherwise, there were no indicators of the other man’s arousal. “Keep going,” Hans whispered in his sleep-heavy voice.

Ernst swallowed hard. “I—“ He couldn’t explain why he felt caught out, almost guilty. 

Hans smiled faintly. “You know, I don’t think I have ever seen you engaged in this particular activity,” he said, shifting a little on the bed to angle his body towards Ernst.

“It’s not a frequent occurrence,” Ernst managed to say. He’d taken his hand off his dick, but his erection hadn’t flagged. 

The corner of Hans’ mouth twitched up again, just a little. “Oh, love,” he sighed. “Why ever not?”

Ernst blinked. “You...do this?”

“Of course.” Hans ran the pad of a finger feather-light up Ernst’s side, the sensation almost ticklish and definitely arousing. “I’d like to watch you, if you’ll let me.”

“You don’t want to...” Ernst struggled for the word he wanted, and came up with “...help?”

Hans’ smile grew to a wicked grin. “If you’d like,” he murmured. “But it would be a privilege, Ernst, to watch you make yourself come.”

The words were like a shot of adrenaline to Ernst’s heart. “God,” he breathed, “you are unbearable.” Hans just grinned cheekily back at him, reaching over to slowly, _slowly_ pull the blanket down until Ernst’s cock was bared to his view. Then he let out a quiet sound of satisfaction at the sight of it. 

“Go on, then,” Hans said with an encouraging smile. 

Ernst felt like all his (already minimal, at least in his mind) skill in bed had left him. He lay there for a few seconds, staring at Hans; after a while Hans cocked an eyebrow, gesturing with his chin to Ernst’s lower half. Tentatively Ernst placed his hand back on himself. His breath caught a little when it caused a low thrum of pleasure to run up his spine. Ernst let his eyes flutter shut, surrendering to the build of sensations as he gave himself several gentle pulls.

After a couple of minutes, it occurred to him that Hans didn’t seem to be reacting in any way. He thought perhaps the man had fallen asleep again, or maybe Ernst masturbating was not as enticing an image as Hans had believed it to be after all; but when he cracked an eye open to check, Hans was still looking steadily at him, clearly aroused but not doing anything about it. Ernst had thought he would feel wounded by Hans’ non-responsiveness, but the moment he saw the man lying there, he felt instantly reassured by it. It was proof that Hans didn’t want him to _perform_ ; he simply wanted to observe for the sake of it, not as a spectacle for his own gratification.

Spurred on by the unobtrusive attention, Ernst tightened his grip slightly, letting the tugs he gave himself grow a little harder and faster. It felt strange to do this with an audience, even stranger than it felt normally, but at the same time he felt empowered by his lover’s eyes on him. Before much longer he felt the orgasm blossoming at the base of his cock, and whimpered slightly. It only took a couple of minutes before he shuddered and spilled over his stomach, a few small sounds escaping from his mouth before he relaxed into the mattress in relief.

He felt fingers on his cheek; looking up, he saw Hans leaning toward him, eyes wide and fond. “You are unbelievably beautiful,” he said with the utmost sincerity. Ernst stared at him, still trembling slightly from the aftereffects of his orgasm. Masturbating had never felt this good before. For the first time, he felt no guilt at touching himself.

Hans continued quietly, “Why do you not allow yourself to do this more often?”

Ernst stared at Hans. “Because I have you to see to me,” he murmured. Hans’ eyes went warm and he quirked his lips up in a smile-- but his gaze was also a knowing one, well aware that that was not the only reason, and Ernst acquiesced to the question in it. “It feels superfluous, I suppose,” he elaborated. “To have someone to give you pleasure and then take more for yourself in addition...it has always felt a bit greedy, in my mind.”

Hans looked at him for some moments more, still fond but also a bit dumbfounded. “If I did not know you so well, love, I might very well believe you to be allergic to pleasure,” he told him. Ernst opened his mouth to protest, but Hans beat him to the punch. “I do not mean it as an insult, my dear. It is simply an observation. For the longest time you were nervous to receive any sexual satisfaction at all— and now you only take it if it is given to you by another. Are you still so loath to accept it from yourself?”

Ernst had never thought about it that way before. His mouth closed again as he considered Hans’ comment. “I suppose I am,” he finally admitted. He looked over at Hans. “Do you really touch yourself like this? I feel terribly unobservant if you have, and I failed to notice.” He was aware of a blush furiously taking over his cheeks, even though his words had been far less dirty than much of what Hans regularly spoke to him. 

Hans laughed low. “Once in a while, when the mood strikes,” he said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Ernst, honestly. It is merely how we learn what our bodies want.”

“I fear I am more familiar with your body than my own in that respect,” Ernst said with a downcast expression.

Hans laughed aloud at that, amused but still kind. “I daresay that’s true,” he agreed. He turned Ernst’s chin up again, looking at him with only love in his eyes. “And may I say that no one is more grateful than I for your knowledge of my body.”

That did make Ernst snort out a laugh of his own, an embarrassed sound but a lighthearted one. There was a level of discomfort for him in this conversation, but Hans’ genuine acceptance and attempts at humor went a long way toward reassuring him. Ernst lunged in and bracketed the man’s face with his palms, giving him a playful kiss with a hint of bite to it; Hans made a muffled sound of surprise and delight and returned the gesture in kind. 

In pressing closer to Hans, Ernst had discovered that his lover’s arousal, while much diminished, had not entirely abated. It seemed the act of watching Ernst had left him more interested than Ernst had expected. He glanced down at the man’s cock, seeing it visibly respond to being noticed. “I had no idea,” he said honestly, “that watching me would have such an effect on you.”

Now it was Hans’ turn to color— a rare thing in and of itself. “You have that effect far more often than not,” he said quietly. Ernst nuzzled into his temple, kissing him there gently, and Hans’ smile widened. He arched into the contact slightly, always eager to be touched; it was this very responsiveness that had encouraged Ernst to be more demonstrative in his affections, over the course of their relationship. Hans seemed to have no maximum threshold in this area— no matter how much Ernst provided closeness and contact, Hans reacted enthusiastically and drank it up as though starved for more. It was a rare moment when he did not wish to be close with Ernst.

“Do you want to do something about it?” Ernst asked with soft boldness.

Hans looked at him. “Ernst, my dear man,” he said, voice mock-incredulous, “are you implying you wish for me to _touch myself_ in front of you?”

Ernst gently head-butted him in the shoulder. “You know full well what I am _implying_ ,” he said.

Hans looked over at him, and Ernst stared back, captivated by the intensity of his gaze. He did not know Hans had moved his hand down to grasp himself until he saw a flare of heat in the man’s eyes, a tightening of his lips pressed together— minute indicators that he was feeling his desire kindle once again. Ernst leaned in to kiss him, but with his free hand, Hans gently stopped him. “Lie back,” he said in a breathy voice. “You are watching, remember?”

Ernst obeyed, trying not to squirm; he had not anticipated how difficult it would be to keep his hands to himself, once he saw his lover thus engaged. Hans’ eyes slid shut, and he gave himself a few preliminary pulls, letting the tips of his fingers skate down to his balls to stimulate the sensitive area around them. Then he wrapped his whole hand around himself, moving it up and down slowly.

Ernst was right in saying that he knew Hans’ body well, so he waited for him to do some of the things they both knew Hans found pleasurable— dragging his thumb against the slightly darker, swollen head of his cock, for instance, and then pressing down on the spot just underneath. Hans did it, and the pleasure caused him to squirm on the bed, a small sound emerging from his throat involuntarily. Ernst’s breathing quickened at the sight of it.

Hans, he knew, could be demonstrative and wanton if he wanted to be, but Ernst got the sense that he, too, was trying not to perform in this situation. This was a moment for Ernst to watch Hans as he would be without an audience. So although he knew Hans would often moan with abandon when they were getting off together, now the only signs of his impending climax were the heaviness of his breathing, and the way his hand sped up until it was flying on himself. Ernst couldn’t take his eyes off it. When Hans choked out a sound and came, the evidence of his release painting the skin of his torso, Ernst felt like he had been sucker-punched. Arousal was sparking through his nerves, but he could not get hard again so soon, so he just trembled there as he felt it burn in his blood.

Hans cracked his eye open again to look at Ernst. When he saw the hungry, desperate look on his lover’s face, he swallowed audibly and his body twitched in a powerful burst of residual pleasure. He reached out for Ernst, the admonition not to touch redacted now that he had climaxed. Ernst came forward willingly. He perched himself atop Hans, sucking on the man’s lower lip in between short kisses that they had to break in order for Hans’ breathing to slow down. Ernst’s hands rubbed languidly up and down his lover’s sides, as eager to administer touch as Hans was to receive it. Hans rewarded him with small, low sounds that disappeared from Hans’ mouth into Ernst’s.

“I am sorry,” Ernst said when they finally stopped themselves from kissing, “that I resist these sorts of exploration. It is natural, I realize that. It is merely awkward for me to accept that I may do so without shame.”

Hans stroked the back of his hand over Ernst’s face. “Hush,” he said, “you mustn’t apologize. It is your choice, love. If it is to happen at all, it will when you are ready. That is what we have always agreed upon, is it not?”

Ernst smiled, more relaxed now, and settled into his lover's arms. “Quite so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what chapter is coming next in the fic, but then I'm gonna need some more filler between significant plot moments! So as always, if you have prompts or headcanons or moments you'd like to see between these two, feel free to suggest them, either in comments or on [at my tumblr](http://imaginedmelody.tumblr.com). (Particularly if they're non-sexy, since I seem to have the porn side of things well covered, but obviously I'll take those too!) I always love to hear new ideas!
> 
>  **BONUS:** [Here's](http://imaginedmelody.tumblr.com/post/171779810093/sunday-six) a sneaky Sunday preview of the next part. Get your tissues ready!


	5. Is There Anybody Home, Who Wants to Have Me, Just to Love Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It wasn’t until they were almost caught that Hanschen and Ernst felt the need to seek a more private place for their liaisons._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from "Stuck in the Middle" by MIKA. Am I literally taking _all my chapter titles_ from MIKA lyrics? Pretty much! Also, go listen to all of his albums, because they are just glorious.)
> 
> Oh hi guys! I had really hoped to get more than one chapter up in March, but it turned out to be a crazy month where, inexplicably, I managed to fall short on absolutely everything, including writing. I did do an outline of the chapters I currently have in mind, and I think I have enough ideas/draft fodder to get us to like chapter 11, so that's good. But writing has been slow going. Hopefully I can pick up the pace. Thank you to each and every one of you for your support of this fic while you waited for another chapter. <3 
> 
> Sections 1 and 2 of this chapter were written in advance and well looked over. Section 3 was, quite honestly, thrown together in a couple hours. Sorry if it isn't much! I'm excited about some of the content I have coming up, though. :D

It wasn’t until they were almost caught that Hanschen and Ernst felt the need to seek a more private place for their liaisons.

Hans’ house had sufficed, for the most part. It was empty most of the time—his father at work, his mother spending the days with her sister, who often needed extra help around the house—and they had taken advantage of the privacy to engage in all manner of exploration. Ernst was rapidly becoming bolder in his affections, more willing to initiate and engage in things that, only eleven months before, he would have hardly even imagined.

Ernst was never very loud; quiet whimpers and groans were usually all he felt comfortable making. (Hanschen suspected Ernst was embarrassed about hearing such unrestrained noises coming from him; if he was only newly accustomed to his body’s physiological reactions to sex, its involuntary vocalizations must be equally strange.) Secretly, Hans yearned to hear him express his pleasure with abandon, but he’d learned to treasure even these smaller sounds. Ernst had discovered—to his own surprise, and to Hans’—that he enjoyed their intimacy a bit rough on occasion, and Hans capitalized on that now, driving into Ernst and savoring the way his breaths grew more desperate and his fingers dug into Hanschen’s arm, motions that signaled the approach of his climax.

That was the exact moment they heard the front door unexpectedly open.

The moment was shattered in the blink of an eye. At the sound of the front door closing, Hanschen froze, and both of them stopped breathing at once. They were still for a moment, half wondering if they’d imagined the sound; then there was the rustle of footfalls downstairs, and Hanschen let out a whoosh of breath and muttered, “ _Shit_.” He eased slowly out of Ernst, careful not to hurt him. “Stay here,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his lover’s forehead to ease the worry in his eyes.

Ernst waited quietly, unmoving, while Hans took a moment to make himself presentable. He listened as the boy went downstairs, greeted his mother and said yes, Ernst was here and of course he would stay for dinner. He lay still, his eyes shut tight as his body fought to come down too suddenly from its physical high, combined with the fear seizing his heart at coming so close to being discovered. His rushing, frantic pulse pounded so hard that it was the only thing he could hear, and Ernst lost himself in it, letting his panic overwhelm him. It was only a few minutes before the door to the bedroom opened and closed again, a warm weight wrapping around him a few seconds later.

“Darling, you’re trembling,” Hans whispered, hugging him a little closer. His heart tugged in sympathy. He should have expected Ernst would feel shame, after such a close call. The urge to take care of him was overpowering; he stepped back to lock the door, and then retrieved a cloth and used it to part Ernst’s legs and wipe away the slippery evidence of their lovemaking. (It pained him a bit to have to clean it away—he did not feel the same sense of humiliation as his more reserved lover, and fervently wished to create a circumstance where they did not have to hide. But he understood Ernst’s reasons for feeling afraid.)

Ernst had not really reacted to anything Hanschen had done; it was beginning to concern him. “Ernst?” Hans said quietly, not wanting to startle him. “Ernst, look at me.”

Slowly, Ernst turned to face him. His eyes swam with tears, and his expression was deeply troubled. “I love you,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. It wasn’t the first time they’d said it, although it was still so new that it made Hanschen’s heart soar a little. But it dropped when he heard Ernst’s next words. “But I don’t want anyone to find out about us.”

He knew Ernst did not mean the comment the way it had sounded, but it drove a dagger into Hanschen’s soul all the same. Ernst seemed to see the pain cross his face; his own features crumpled further, not knowing how to soothe the turmoil inside himself or keep it from digging its claws into Hanschen as well. “I know,” Hanschen said, and if his anguish hadn’t been written all over his face, it was evident in his voice, which was tight and sad and resigned.

Ernst laid a shaking hand on his lover’s cheek. “I love you,” he repeated, his tone sincere through the hopelessness and fear still running through him. 

Hanschen sat up and buried his head in his hands, scrubbing at his eyes to rid them of the tears that had begun to seep from the corners. “Shit,” he breathed. With his eyes covered, he felt rather than saw Ernst’s hand come up and wrap around his knee, squeezing gently as a paltry attempt at comfort. The gesture did help, a little; without looking, he covered Ernst’s hand with his own, and when Ernst turned his hand upward, twined their fingers together.

“Perhaps it would be better if we could find someplace to be truly alone,” Hanschen said, when he felt a little more emotionally stable.

“Perhaps,” Ernst agreed in a quiet voice. After a pause, he added, “It is not disregard for you that I feel, Hans, it is my own fear getting the better of me. You must realize that.”

Hans glanced at him, registering the soft vehemence in his voice. Ernst was frustrated, he saw now, scrubbing tears away from his own eyes—but they looked like angry tears more than Hanschen’s sad ones. Ernst was upset with himself for this shortcoming. “I do realize it, and I cannot help but forgive it,” he admitted, and Ernst made a shaky involuntary sob of a sound at the acceptance, which he so clearly felt he did not deserve. “But it hurts me, Ernst, to the bone.”

“I wish I could be unafraid as you are,” Ernst began—but Hanschen stopped him there, before he could go further.

“Don’t you see?” he asked, meeting Ernst’s puzzled gaze; Hans’ hand came up to Ernst’s chin, to force him to maintain the eye contact. “I am afraid too,” he said, and the speaking of the words called forth the emotion they spoke of; his heart beat faster, his body felt weaker. “I fear desiring what everyone around us tells us we should not want. But I must fight it, Ernst. Because I fear losing you more than facing what is different about me.”

Ernst’s eyes went soft and worried and caring. He surged forward and trapped Hans in a hug, gathering the young man close to him and carding fingers through the short hair at the back of his head, until Hans felt the anxiety in him subside and the calm begin to return. Ernst had changed slightly at his admission; no longer did he seem distant and frightened by the possibility of being caught at any moment. Consideration for Hans had taken precedence, seemingly, over his own inner turmoil, though undoubtedly that still raged too, beneath the surface.

Ernst finally spoke into the warmth of Hanschen’s shoulder. “It had not occurred to me that you too would be afraid,” he said gently. “I am sorry.” Hans nosed his way into Ernst’s neck as simultaneous comfort and reassurance, but no words seemed a sufficient response. In a moment Ernst cleared his throat. “We should dress. Your mother will want help in the kitchen.”

Hans pulled back, looked at Ernst’s puffy tear-stained face, kissed him and thumbed at the damp skin. That pulled a slight half-smile out of the man, which Hans returned. “It is my least favorite part of our time together, when you put your clothes back on,” he joked weakly, but though his usual playfulness was absent, the comment was enough to surprise Ernst into a genuine laugh.

“Consider it a view you see far less often than you should,” he retorted, reaching over to retrieve his trousers from behind Hans, where they were hanging half-off the bed by one leg. 

Hans scoffed. “Nonsense,” he teased, “I see far too much of it as it is.” 

The tension now lightened, they washed their faces to mask the signs of tears, and talked idly until the distress in their features had mostly faded. Touch, naturally, was a bit more restrained; they were both too shaken to be handsy, now sure that someone would round the corner and catch them entwined in a compromising position. But their mood had turned friendly again, and they knew that for the moment, the trouble had passed. 

\---

Almost two weeks later, Hanschen sat down before Ernst at school with an idea of how to solve their dilemma. He found Ernst at the lunch hour, and without any introduction, slid a paper across the table to him. “What’s this?” Ernst asked around a mouthful of food. Hans gestured to an advertisement, looked at Ernst pointedly, and said nothing more. Ernst went still to read it. Finally he looked up. His expression was slightly stunned.

“A place of our own,” Hanschen said, light glimmering in his eyes.

“You want us to get this flat?”

“I want us to get a flat _like this_ ,” Hans corrected. “There are inexpensive rooms for students in all the neighborhoods around the university. We would be wise to secure one now, if we intend to live in one of those rather than on campus.” He grinned, and added, “We are both of age to be independent, and as we are so near to graduation, we can hardly languish on our own so much that we compromise our education. I am sure we can make our parents agree.”

“ _My_ parents,” Ernst reminded him with a raised eyebrow, “will want to know that I will not be tempted and corrupted by bad influences, out on my own so early.”

“Then we won’t tell them about all the filthy sex we’ll be having,” Hanschen murmured under his breath, just to watch Ernst sputter and blush red as a tomato.

When Ernst had recovered a bit, he said tentatively, “You don’t feel as though we would be rushing into it? It is quite a drastic measure for the sake of a bit of privacy.”

Hans laughed. “Ernst, love, we have been together for nearly a year! We expect to room together at university anyway, if circumstances permit. We would not be going to such unusual lengths to secure our own comfort.” He exhaled, and then added, “And I will admit I hold that comfort at such a premium that I would be willing to make much greater sacrifices to gain it.”

Ernst gave him a small smile. “I suppose you are right,” he said.

“Then you agree with the idea?” Hanschen asked, his heart thrilling to an excited ache in his chest. In an even softer voice than the one they’d been using already, he added, “You will move in with me?”

“Well, it seems I cannot argue against it,” Ernst teased, but softened to seriousness at Hanschen’s eager expression. His fingers twitched, as if he were fighting the impulse to reach out and touch. “Yes,” he confirmed. “We should move in together.”

\---

In the first hours after sunrise, the flat smelled like the cooking aromas from the surrounding apartments, like old wood and furniture polish and the embers of fireplaces. Through the threadbare curtains that had come with the rooms, the dim and hazy light of early morning filtered in. Ernst stirred and cracked his eyes open. The sight was new to him, but one aspect of it was as familiar as it was unprecedented: Hanschen next to him, warm and sleepy and as relaxed as Ernst had ever seen him, in the home that they now shared without restraint or uncertainty. 

Hanschen had not quite come awake yet; when Ernst shifted to face him more completely, his eyes opened just a slit, then slid shut again on a quiet exhale of breath. Ernst admired his sleep-tousled hair, the way the blankets cocooned around them were rumpled to bare tantalizing hints of skin to his view. He stretched, and winced, the stiffness in his joints reminding him that—lacking a proper bed just yet—they had nested on the floor, the pile of pillows and blankets the only cushion between them and the wood beneath. His moving stirred up the dust from the unswept ground, and Ernst sneezed loudly.

“Bless you,” Hans muttered groggily into his pillow. The sound and the jolt of Ernst’s body finally stirred him fully awake; with a grumble, he turned over onto his back and rested a hand on the small of Ernst’s back, right where his ass began to curve. “What’re you thinking about?”

Ernst was looking at the curtains, stirring minutely in the breeze from the barely-open window. “We should get new curtains for that window,” he said after a moment. “Ones without holes in them.”

“Not even living here a day yet and you’ve already begun to decorate,” Hanschen teased, and tugged on the blankets to drag Ernst closer. Ernst tangled their feet together, tracing fingers idly over Hanschen’s thigh.

The few bits of furniture that had come with the flat—a wooden dining table with (fittingly enough) only two chairs, a too-small washtub, a cupboard, a dusty-looking loveseat—were currently piled with stacks of books and clothes, the main items Ernst and Hanschen had brought with them when they moved in. Their other possessions would follow, as they determined there was room for them. The flat was essentially one common room, and from their current vantage point Ernst could see into the kitchen area, which was barely stocked with enough food to get them through the weekend. (His mother, he knew, would be by in a day or so, provoked by worries that he was not sufficiently well fed, and would make sure they were settled in with adequate meals.) 

“All I know,” Hans said, pulling Ernst’s thoughts back to him, “is that we must get a bed as soon as we are able. Perhaps bring one of ours from home, if need be. My back will not endure sleeping on these floors much longer.” He smirked. “Nor will my knees, if we keep doing what we did last night.”

Ernst’s blush was something he would surely never tire of. “There will be time for that,” he said, shaking his head as he brought their heads together and grazed the pad of his thumb over Hanschen’s lower lip. “Don’t tell me your excitement has worn off already, and you’ve tired of all this.”

Hans’s smile was soft. “Never,” he murmured, and quieted them both by pulling him into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to leave thoughts/prompts/headcanons in the comments here or on my tumblr at [imaginedmelody](http://imaginedmelody.tumblr.com)!


	6. Any Way You Want To (Love, Love Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ernst's initial discomfort with his body combines with Hanschen's natural talent for dirty talk. (Or, an intimate moment in which Hanschen is not quiet AT ALL.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is HOT AS FUCK, if that's something you were missing from the more serious tone of Chapter 5. :P My description of Ernst as slightly pudgy is based on the actor who played Ernst in the local production of "Spring Awakening" I first saw, who was fairly short (definitely 4-5 inches shorter than the actor playing Hans) and... not heavy, but solidly built, I suppose.
> 
> Lyrics from "Love Today" by MIKA.

Ernst’s early life had been characterized by a painful shyness about his body. It was something he had been acutely aware of since he and his friends began the transition from boyhood to maturity. As the other boys filled out, developed muscles and body dimensions more suited to an adult, Ernst remained pudgy and awkward. Certainly puberty hit, giving him hair in new places and changing other areas of his body too— but the other boys, he noticed, naturally became relatively fit young men, losing their baby fat and gaining that wonderful compact firmness that adolescent boys tend to have. For Ernst, two things happened at exactly the same time: he realized he was attracted to that matured male body, and he noticed his own was painfully unlike it.

It made the prospect of sex rather difficult to stomach. Though he desired it with the same fervor as most teenage boys, even pleasuring himself was such a foreign and vaguely uncomfortable idea that he rarely engaged in it. He was embarrassed by the way his body reacted, how it became sensitive and demanded his touch, and how it leaked and pulsed and made a mess if he got excited enough. Though he occasionally woke up with dirtied sheets and no memory of how they got that way, and though he gave in every once in a while and fulfilled his body’s needs until that terribly private rush of sensation occurred, the act was still inexplicably humiliating to him, in a way which he simply could not overcome.

It got to the point, for Ernst, where even the simple act of emotional attraction was more uncomfortable than exciting. The butterflies in his stomach, and the spreading warmth in his heart and his cheeks, were pleasant sensations for most— but Ernst associated them with his shame, his awkwardness over himself, and could not enjoy them. (Hans once admitted that he had not been sure of Ernst’s desire for him, initially, because “you looked so terribly _constipated_ every time we were together, that I was rather worried I made you ill.”) Having a crush, then, was less a joy and more a frustration. It didn’t help that society implicitly shamed the nature of his desires, constantly reinforcing that his preference for males was an abomination for which he should feel remorse. Ernst repressed those urges, and began to wish he hadn’t developed such feelings at all, for either sex.

Hanschen had quickly discovered his lover’s reticence and discomfort, but he had misinterpreted it at first, thought him simply a blushing virgin rather than a young man with serious reservations about his own body. Hans would always feel a powerful sense of regret about their first time together. He had been so enthusiastic that he paid no attention to the signs of Ernst’s satisfaction (or lack thereof), and as a result had entirely misused him. Ernst needed a slow pace and a great deal of reassurance and explanation; what he had received from Hanschen instead was a rushed, energetic fuck with no preamble and no reference point from which to judge the experience.

Once he was properly paying attention, though, it was easy for Hans to see what the problem was. Ernst, he realized, had no concept of himself as attractive. He squirmed and flushed and fretted at any attention to himself, and when his body responded (in ways both perfectly natural and terribly attractive), he seemed ashamed of it. He hardly trusted his own body to know what felt good, or what was normal and acceptable to feel and do. Hans had a hell of a time getting him to trust his instincts and enjoy sex without feeling humiliated by the fact that he _did_ enjoy it.

What he did—and Ernst was forever grateful for it—was teach Ernst, very gently, how to feel that he was loved and treasured, and how to see sex as something fun and natural. Ernst was surprised by the way in which he first did this: Hans, on several occasions, allowed himself to be very silly in bed. He would blow noisy kisses into Ernst’s skin, or tickle him until he was worn out and panting, flushed for a very different reason than his own embarrassment. Or he would be tender, peppering Ernst’s skin with little butterfly kisses until Ernst laughed and tried to push him away—but he could never quite manage to escape Hans. Instead, when it reached the point where he was being dislodged, Hans would pause and shake his head, waiting until Ernst stilled and allowed him to stay there. Then he would set himself back to the task of lavishing Ernst’s skin with tender attention. Awkward as he felt about being the object of such affection, Ernst couldn’t help but lie there, still and transfixed as he was so plainly loved. 

Ernst had once confessed, when he and Hans made love after the botched first time, that his discomfort had stemmed from not knowing what was going to happen when they had sex— what Hans would do, how it would feel, what was all right to think and act like and what was not. Ernst had no means of educating himself about sex, particularly the variety he truly enjoyed; their first time, he had no concept of what might be done to him, and that was frightening. If Hans had just told him what would happen before doing it, he admitted in bed that night, perhaps he might not have been so anxious about the whole endeavor.

So the next time they were together, Hans—with a sly grin on his face— described everything he intended to do in excruciating detail before attempting to perform it on Ernst. Ernst quickly realized what he was up to, and at first he rolled his eyes and said, “Really, Hans, there is no _need_ for that, I am fine now.” But he wasn’t fine, not entirely, and for Hanschen there was a different purpose behind his narration. Once he got Ernst to listen, he continued his descriptions. “I am going to kiss you,” he would say, “and I want to feel your tongue, Ernst, against mine. Your lips are wonderful, so soft, and I want to kiss you until they bruise.” Or, as his hand hovered just an inch away from Ernst’s erection, so close he could buck his hips up and make contact if he wanted to, “I am going to put my hand on you. I want to feel how hard you are. Look at the tip of you, so flushed. Are you sensitive? Is it starting to ache, a bit?” (He was, and _it_ was, Hans could tell— at the outright mention of it, Ernst squirmed and _whimpered_.) “Ah yes, there we are. Look how it twitches when I touch you. You feel even more wonderful than I expected.”

Hans was terrifically good at dirty talk, and when Ernst really started to pay attention, he discovered that the act of hearing those words was both a surprising comfort and the most arousing thing he’d ever experienced. He came suddenly and powerfully, with Hanschen’s hand moving slowly on him. Hans’ tongue had been busily working on one of Ernst’s nipples, but he kept pausing to describe the sensations Ernst must be feeling. Now he stopped to watch Ernst climax, all the while praising how magnificent he looked in the moment of orgasm, how good it must be to find release like that, how the aftershocks feel as they spread through the body. Ernst lay on the bed afterwards, panting and incredulous, until he noticed Hans’ barely contained desperation. It took little more than ten strokes of his hand for Hans to shudder and come all over everything.

The act of describing their sex, he found, had something of a trigger effect. Upon hearing Hans say what was going to happen, his body responded in just the way he had predicted, as though the words themselves were a form of conditioning. It was made all the better by the fact that Hans was getting to know Ernst in this capacity, and learning him well; his comments were guided not by his general knowledge of what pleases the male anatomy, but by his expertise on what might feel good to Ernst in particular. The dirty talk only improved with the longevity of their relationship, even though its frequency was never particularly high. Ernst was always too shy to say anything very filthy, and Hans preferred to save it for occasions when he wished to drive Ernst especially wild, and then pull it out, a secret weapon to send his arousal skyrocketing.

These and more helped Ernst become comfortable with sex in general, and having things done to him. But perhaps Hans’ hardest battle was getting his friend to reciprocate— to be the one actively doing things to _Hans_. It required him to take initiative, to perform a sexual act with confidence that it was what they both wanted, and surety that he would do it correctly (although, in Hans’ mind, it was not as difficult as perhaps Ernst supposed to do things correctly; if an error was made, or an action turned out to be less than successful at arousing them, they could simply try another). They had tried it with Ernst expressing his own desires, telling Hans what to do and having him follow the instructions. But Ernst was not so in touch with his own impulses, and timid about voicing the ones he was aware of, no matter how benign. 

So they tried it the other way round: Hans— in a way not bossy or dominant, but simply explanatory— gave Ernst simple, direct instructions on how to bring him pleasure. He told him where to kiss; where to touch, and how; when to get closer, and when to pull back. The act of providing this sort of guidance served as a point of compromise between them. Ernst gained experience in being an active participant in sex, without the discomfort of having to map out the terrain for himself. Hans, though not significantly more sexually experienced than Ernst, was more intuitive in that respect; he trusted his body and his desires enough to figure out what he wanted with relative ease. If he could pass any of that confidence on to Ernst, it would be a welcome and valuable contribution indeed.

~*~

The end of their final school year was coming up fast, and Hanschen and Ernst were constantly occupied with studying for exams. It was tiring work, and tedious; no matter how much they enjoyed the subjects, the pressure to remember it all sapped much of the joy of learning from the task. In the little spare time they had, both had taken on part-time jobs to pay the rent on the flat and save for the future. They had decided together, in bed one night during a long chat as evening fell, to take a gap year between graduation and starting university. Hanschen wanted to travel, to study Greek in the country from which it originated, and Ernst confessed his eagerness to spend time doing missionary or service work before going into the ministry. It would necessitate their being apart for some time, but that seemed a worthy sacrifice that would make their lives together all the richer.

For two young men so busy with school and work, scraping together what they could to make ends meet, the small quiet times at the end of the evening were precious ones. Upon finally finishing their tasks around the house, both of them shed their clothes to climb into bed. Sex was not a requirement for their nakedness— it was freeing to take everything off, and meet in bed with only their bodies between them.

They shuffled around, blankets tangled around their bodies rather than covering them, each person’s limbs draped haphazardly over the other’s. Ernst’s hand immediately came up to thread through the long strands of Hans’ hair; he hummed gently when Hans pulled the covers down enough to press a few soft kisses to his ribs and nose tenderly at his stomach.

He laughed quietly when he saw Hans lift the sheet again slightly to peek at what was underneath it. “Do you enjoy what you see?” Ernst asked wryly, eyebrow raised.

“Mm-hmm,” Hans said absently, ducking his head down half-underneath the blanket to mouth very close to the area he had been scrutinizing moments before, which gave a little twitch at the attention. “I like your cock,” he added, and then paused in surprise when he noticed Ernst’s reaction. “You still blush, after all this time.”

Ernst leaned his head back against the pillow. “Not for the reason I once did,” he said. “It’s simply not a very attractive part of me, Hans. Even you must admit that.”

“I _must_ do no such thing,” Hans corrected gently. “On the contrary; it’s one of the most fascinating parts of you, love.” Ernst’s eyebrow came up again, disbelieving. Hans breathed out into his partner’s skin, and then murmured, “I enjoy seeing you aroused. It is beautiful for that reason, at least.”

“You have no shortage of occasions to see me aroused,” Ernst remarked, and Hans laughed aloud.

“A privilege for which I am intensely grateful, I assure you,” he replied. They were silent for a while, the hiss of the fire the only sound in the room apart from their breathing. Hans danced his fingers over Ernst’s smooth skin, head pillowed on the softness of his lover’s body— the slight pudginess of it only making his resting place that much more comfortable. Ernst’s hand had found its home at the back of Hanschen’s neck, scratching affectionately at the exposed skin there, where his scalp was sensitive to the gentle touch.

“Sometimes I worry,” Ernst said at last, “that the attractiveness you see in me exists only in your own eyes.” His voice was relaxed, but Hans knew that was more an expression of trust than a reflection of casualness; this statement had import, and he treated it as such.

“I cannot disprove it,” he admitted, “but I doubt that very much. Never in the world has there been a form of beauty that only one person can see.”

Ernst’s eyes softened. “How poetic,” he said fondly, bending forward to drop a kiss to the top of Hanschen’s head before sinking back into the pillows again.

Hans smiled too, but quickly added, “It is not mere poetry, Ernst; I did not mean it purely as lover’s words. I am quite serious. I refuse to believe that in the entire world, I am the only one who would think you beautiful.”

Ernst was silent for a moment. Then he admitted, with a hint of vulnerability, “You are the only one I have trusted to find me so.”

Hans ran his lips over Ernst’s skin, his touch gentle and light and soothing. When he got to Ernst’s neck, he stopped and looked right into his lover’s eyes. “And you may continue to place your trust in me, my dear. That is a constant; it will never change.” He moved up further to suck underneath Ernst’s jaw; the contact sent a thrill through Ernst’s body, which responded the tiniest bit. He could feel Hans’ smile when he noticed his reaction.

Ernst tilted Hans’ chin up with his fingers so he could capture his lover’s lips in his own. The affection made Hans feel warm all over, a flood of emotion which only intensified when Ernst whispered, “I love you so terribly much, my dear Hanschen.”

Hans nibbled his lip a little, and then said, “Shall we go to sleep now, Ernst?”

Ernst’s eyes flashed with a wicked mirth. “If you like. But I was rather hoping to get a bit closer to you, tonight.”

It had been several days since they had been able to engage in anything sexual, and Hans’ body immediately telegraphed its interest in the idea. He pulled Ernst in again, letting this kiss get a bit deeper, more heated. Ernst settled in so they were perfectly aligned, and Hans marveled at the synchronicity of it, the familiarity of having him near. “Mmm,” he moaned, his hands drifting down to Ernst’s ass to keep him exactly where he was, enjoying the way the softness of him fit in his hands. “You are gorgeous, Ernst. You feel so good against me, you’ve no idea.”

“Oh, God,” Ernst groaned out in pleasure, his breath a little faster than it had been moments before. “Are you going to talk to me?”

“I have been _talking_ to you,” Hans teased, “for some minutes now, Ernst. Surely you were listening.”

Ernst was trembling slightly against him, as he frequently did when aroused. His fingers tightened in Hanschen’s hair. Hans made a small sound, needy and happy at once. “Indeed, but that is not what I meant.”

Hans nosed at Ernst’s neck, giving him only fleeting contact until he shook a little harder with the need for more. “Would you like me to?” he asked, voice low and dark against Ernst’s skin. “Shall I tell you how the sight of your body, the feel of it under my hands, excites me? Surely you can feel that for yourself.” He guided Ernst’s hand by the wrist to his groin, where his cock stood half-hard and proud.

He loved the way he could feel Ernst reacting to him— not just the erection that was rising up to nudge against his hipbone, but the way his breathing went labored and his eyes dilated to dark circles. “I can,” Ernst choked out, his voice weak, in answer to Hanschen’s statement.

“Good,” Hanschen said silkily, “because just thinking of your hands, your tongue, your _cock_ is turning me on so badly, Ernst.” Ernst’s fingers reflexively tightened on Hans’ erection, and he bit his lip, stiffening further. Hans reached over to thumb at Ernst’s nipple, loving the sound of his breath catching. “I wish you could look at yourself, love. Arousal looks so good on you.” He ran his other hand over Ernst’s cheek, watching the skin flush in the wake of his touch. 

“I rather think my arousal would abate significantly, if I could see myself.” His voice was harsh and gravelly with desire now, and though Hans did not relish his words of self-doubt, he sensed they were not inhibiting Ernst’s enjoyment—not expressed bitterly, but matter-of-factly.

“Nonsense,” he scolded gently, pressing his hand full-palm against Ernst’s groin to see him squirm on the bed. “Do you know what I would like to do? I would very much like to go out and buy a mirror— a large one, big enough to see your whole body in. Then,” he drawled the last bit, dragging it out longer for suspense and touching Ernst in a way that relieved a bit of the pressure but only intensified the need for friction, “I would put it here, in this room, and fuck you in front of it until you couldn’t see straight.”

“God,” Ernst breathed again. He was completely hard now, rigid and starting to leak. Hans thumbed the fluid off and spread it around to give him some lubrication.

“You would love it,” he continued, watching Ernst arch and pant with the sudden influx of stimulus. “Imagine seeing yourself come apart like that. You could hardly doubt yourself again, if you saw what you look like when you are aching for it.” He had slid down Ernst’s body, and now Ernst’s cock was there, next to his face. Hans nosed at the base of it, tongue darting out for tiny licks around his balls, where the skin was hottest and so heavy. He had not exaggerated; Ernst’s cock really was beautiful to him. He liked few things more than to pay it attention.

Ernst was looking at him with a mixture of rapt attention, hunger, and pure dumbfounded shock. “And you wonder why I blush so when you open your mouth,” he said, and then flushed a deeper scarlet when he caught the double meaning of his statement.

Hans propped himself up on his elbows, wiggling so he was nearer to his lover. “Oh, is it my mouth that pleases you so?” he teased, picking up Ernst’s hand and sucking lightly at the wrist before progressing upwards and drawing a few of the man’s fingers in his mouth, wrapping his lips around them and hollowing his cheeks suggestively— the quintessential imitation of fellatio.

Ernst laughed and let his fingers slide out again, cupping Hans’ face on either side and leaning down to brush their noses and cheeks together. “Your words, Hanschen, I meant your _words_ ,” he corrected, a contented smile on his face.

Hans couldn’t help but capture that mouth in a kiss, so he did, brushing their lips together tenderly. The sweetness, to anyone else, would seem an odd reversal from their conversation moments before, which was almost filthy enough not to be out of place in a brothel. But to them, it made perfect sense— every dirty word and thought came rooted with affection and love. No matter what they said or did, that love bled out into everything. 

“Would you like to, though?” Hans mused, detaching from Ernst’s lips with a little nip of teeth that Ernst instantly soothed with his own tongue.

Ernst, though still hopelessly aroused, seemed content for now to run his fingers absently over the curve of Hans’ face. “Would I like to do what?” he asked, voice relaxed.

Hans’ eyes were steady on his face. “Make love in front of a mirror,” he clarified, “so you could see.”

Ernst seemed surprised at the suggestion for a moment, as though Hans had not been mentioning that very thing only a few minutes before; perhaps he had thought Hanschen was not being serious. When he answered, it was sincere and honest. “It would be difficult for me to look,” he admitted. “But I will not dismiss it solely for that.”

Hans remembered the man he’d fallen in love with so long ago— that awkward, self-conscious, inexperienced colt of a teenager— and tried to reconcile him with the man in front of him now. This Ernst was secure, confident in himself and accepting of his desires despite the occasional reservation about his own body. He saw how open Ernst was, how willing to exchange all manner of intimacies with Hans. It made him fall more in love than ever. The man had really made such great strides, in all their time together. 

He rewarded Ernst for his consent by sliding down again, returning his mouth to his partner’s erection and taking in just the head. Hans administered light suction, working his tongue in several deliberate passes against the sensitive skin. The sound Ernst made was strained and quiet, and though something in Hans yearned to pull louder and more reckless noises out of him, it was not the moment for that. (There had only been a couple of instances, in all their time together, when the circumstances had been aligned to let them make as much noise as they wished. Hans still, when he pleasured himself, heard in his mind the loud, desperate sounds he could cause Ernst to make in those situations. Like so many things, they made Ernst blush and squirm uncomfortably to think of them— but the fact that he made them at all showed a deep level of trust, and for that they were both grateful.) 

He pulled off and grinned mischievously after a minute or two, when Ernst’s breath seemed to be coming faster— not ready to orgasm yet, but on his way. “I nearly forgot,” Hans said, his voice sly, “that you expressed an interest in hearing me talk tonight.”

Ernst’s cock jumped, and his mouth fell open slightly. “Please,” he said, as though it was the only word he _could_ say.

Hans licked at the slightly sweat-damp planes of Ernst’s skin, noting the small whine his partner gave above him. “Does that make you hard?” he asked in a low voice, and didn’t miss the strained groan that followed. “You must be aching, from the looks of it. These look so heavy.” He gingerly held Ernst’s balls in his hand, feeling for himself how full and warm they were. “Your body is so lovely, when it is getting ready to come.”

“Oh God,” Ernst whispered, giving barely a sound to the words. The slight desperation in his voice made excitement tear through Hans’ body.

“But you’re not going to come yet,” Hans cautioned, and Ernst panted harder, attempting to hold back before he passed the point of no return. His cock leaked a little, but otherwise stayed full and erect. Hans reached over with his free hand to grab the lubricant from the table nearest the bed. As he did so, he said, “Your cock is not the only part of your body, I’d wager, that craves being touched.”

“Hans,” Ernst breathed out, fingers clenching against his and then loosening again. “I don’t think— I can’t—“ 

Hanschen pressed a tiny kiss to his lover’s chest, feeling his heartbeat strong and racing. “Hush,” he said, and decreased the stimulation to allow Ernst to pull back. Seeing the look on Ernst’s face, he reassured, “You’ve nothing to be worried about, love.”

“I fear I won’t be able to last,” Ernst said in a strained voice, “and I want to be able to last for this.” _For you,_ was the implied addition to that comment.

Ernst’s desire implied trust, a strength of trust that left Hanschen feeling warm inside. It also made him feel powerful; Ernst was consenting to give him control over a bodily function of which he had once been embarrassed, and which was still a reaction terribly personal and private. It was a testament to their relationship that Ernst let him do this— and as they both knew, the dividends they would reap from doing it successfully would be well worth the effort.

So Hans shushed him again, skating fingers over Ernst’s hypersensitive skin with the barest of touches until Ernst focused in on those sensations and began to calm. Hanschen was touching the same places he caressed when Ernst was upset or stressed— the palms of his hands, his wrists, his sides and the back of his neck. They were places on Ernst’s body that centered him, as both of them had learned. His natural reaction was to settle down at a soothing touch there.

Slowly, he watched Ernst relax a little. He was still hard, straining upwards tantalizingly, and every so often a bit of dampness would seep from the tip of his erection— but his breathing was evening out, as the tremors of pleasure sparking through his body simmered down. Hans felt himself calming as well; his body had begun to demand attention, an inconvenient circumstance when he really wished to lavish that attention on his partner, and he took a moment to center himself before returning his focus to Ernst.

The lubricant was still in his hand; removing the cap, he poured a little of the slick oil on his fingers and spread it around as best he could. Ernst watched him with calm, dark eyes, and waited for whatever Hans would say or do next. Hans, now feeling more composed, resumed his comments. “You used to cringe so when I tried to put my fingers in you.” He tried it now, running a slippery finger across the puckered edge of Ernst’s hole. Ernst squirmed, but towards the finger rather than away; he pushed against it to create some pressure, although he couldn’t get enough purchase to allow it inside. 

“If you think about it, it is rather an odd thing to do,” Ernst pointed out, making a small, high-pitched sound as Hanschen aimed his finger better and put a small amount of force behind it, allowing a centimeter or two to pass through the entrance to his hole. 

Hanschen grinned. “Ah, but you are so wonderfully tight, though,” he praised, circling his finger back and forth once an inch or so had gone in, to stretch a little and make room, and then sliding in a second one beside it. “Does this feel good? Having something opening you, making you ready?” Ernst did little more than give a vague whimper, and Hans smirked, willfully misinterpreting the reaction. “You say so little, Ernst. Perhaps it is not as enjoyable as I supposed.”

He started to pull out, but Ernst squirmed down and outright _whined_. “That— that is _cruel_ ,” he choked out, a smile spreading across his face when he caught Hanschen’s look of mischief. He leaned forward, being careful not to dislodge the other man’s fingers, and took his face in his hands. “Of course it is enjoyable, you arse.”

Hanschen turned his head to drop a kiss on Ernst’s palm, then nipped at it wickedly, making him yelp and twitch his hand away. “Ooh, it seems I am not the only one with a mouth on him.” In one fluid motion he slid his fingers in, knowing that it would surprise Ernst for things to speed up that quickly. Ernst hissed at the initial discomfort, but Hans had an unerring sense of direction for the spots on Ernst that gratified him most, and in seconds had bumped against the firm surface of his prostate. The wince turned into a moan in the blink of an eye.

“Oh,” Ernst sighed, arching full-body into the contact. “God, that’s lovely.” He was flushed warm and happy, and Hanschen felt a rush of affection for it. Ernst felt such unadulterated pleasure when sufficiently distracted from any lingering insecurities; Hans was so proud of him for it.

“This, I think, is the most unusual and interesting reaction,” Hans commented mildly as he stretched his fingers around, distracting Ernst while he worked the muscle of his hole to make space for himself. “It should be quite uncomfortable, as you say. But yet...” He aimed up again, and Ernst shuddered, panting as Hans maintained the pressure on his sweet spot for a bit longer this time. “Do you feel it? That spark, that makes your whole body light up?”

“Mmm,” was Ernst’s only response. His eyes were glazed over, dilated with arousal. Hans knew he must look similarly debauched, even though he hadn’t really been touched yet. Watching Ernst come apart was turning him on terribly.

“Look at you,” Hanschen said, his tone openly admiring. At the sound of it, Ernst merely watched him, stunned. “So hard. I can feel how hot you are, Ernst, even from here.” His cock twitched, and Hanschen’s erection gave an answering throb. He reached out with his free hand to give Ernst’s cock a few slow strokes. “Can you feel it building in you, Ernst? All those nerves, coming together to give you pleasure?”

“Yes,” Ernst whispered, as though he couldn’t muster the ability to give his words full voice.

“Good,” Hans said, continuing to finger him slowly. “You’re getting warmer and warmer, aren’t you? I can tell by the flush on your skin.” Ernst pinked a little more in the face, this time out of embarrassment, and Hans shook his head. “No, don’t be ashamed, my dear. It’s beautiful.” He bent down to drag his teeth across Ernst’s nipple, and the sound he made was more urgent. Good, he was getting close.

Sure enough, in a moment he heard Ernst say in a quiet but insistent voice, “Hans, I— I will finish very soon—“ 

Hans continued thrusting up with his fingers, a bit harder and more frequently now; Ernst was bearing down to meet the pressure at every thrust, delightfully eager with his need to climax. As Ernst approached his orgasm, Hans continued his narration. “Good boy,” he praised, “go ahead and let it take you. You’re getting more sensitive on this spot every time I touch it, aren’t you?” Ernst couldn’t muster a verbal response, but the sound he made more than proved Hanschen right. “Look at your cock, so perfect. You’re so full right now you could burst. Are you ready?” Ernst’s breathing was strained. ‘Go on then, my love. Let yourself come.”

Ernst clenched and contracted a few times, squirming around a bit, and then the fidgety movements turned into a prolonged arching as he shuddered and spilled all over his skin. He kept going for a few seconds, his body twitching through a prolonged and messy orgasm. When he finally began to melt into the bed with satisfaction, Hans knew that perhaps he was supposed to cuddle with him, to be sweet and caring with the man who had just reached his peak. But if he didn’t touch himself right that moment, he felt like he would fall apart and go mad. So, heedless of Ernst’s own sated state, he circled tight fingers around his erection and began rapidly jerking at it, unashamedly masturbating as he hurtled towards the finishing point himself.

Ernst noticed through his blissed-out state. He shifted so that he was on his stomach, and then leaned over and boldly took Hans in his mouth, sliding up and down for a second or two and then pulling off again. The frequency of Ernst engaging in this particular act was still, years later, fairly rare— and Hans was in no state to enjoy it for long, at the rate he was going. “Love, you mustn’t— I’m gonna—“ he said, feeling the beginnings of his orgasm coiling in him. He would spend in a second or two; there was no holding back.

It wasn’t clear whether Ernst doubted the immediacy of Hans’ climax, or whether he was feeling particularly adventurous. But he wrapped his mouth around Hans again, sliding down once more and sucking firmly— just in time for Hans to make a muffled shout into the pillow and come hard into Ernst’s mouth. Ernst made a small, startled sound, but he swallowed immediately and without too much difficulty, although a couple of small trickles seeped out at the edge of his mouth, wiped hastily away before Hans could do more than hazily glimpse them. Ernst lapped him clean before releasing him, utterly stunned, to lie on the bed.

Hans reached over, as soon as Ernst was within his arm’s length, and thumbed at his mouth tenderly. It was wet, and warm, and Hans thrilled with the knowledge that a very intimate part of him had just been there. “Thank you,” was all he could blurt out, and then he flushed a little at how silly a thing that was to say (even though he meant it, from the bottom of his heart).

Ernst shrugged, but out of modesty rather than dismissiveness. He looked like he was getting sleepier, his body lax and languid in the mess of blankets covering their bed. He curled into Hanschen’s side, one arm draped over his waist and one foot tangled with his. “You make me bold,” was all he said by way of explanation. 

Hans smiled a little and hugged him closer. It was a few moments before he asked a question that he knew was important, given Ernst’s personality. “And do you desire to be bold? Or does it concern you?”

The still silence that followed made him wonder if Ernst was asleep, but when Hanschen glanced down, he saw the man’s eyes were open, his face pensive. “I desire to love you without doubting myself,” he said eventually. “If it is boldness that accomplishes this, then boldness is what I want.” There was a small smile on his face as he let a finger trace over Hanschen’s ribs— a little more prominent than they had once been, given their current status as poor university students.

Hans chuckled softly. “A rare courage indeed,” he joked, and Ernst laughed too, settling in against Hans and burying his face in the man’s skin. Hans kissed his hair and made room for him against his body. “Go to sleep now, my love.”

“I love you,” he heard murmured back against his skin, and he smiled to himself before the drowsiness took him over too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple chapters are my all-time favorites of this story. I am incredibly excited to finish and post them.


	7. A Little Bit of Heaven, and a Little Bit of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hans’ first sign that something was wrong was how quiet Ernst was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...It's back!
> 
> Thank you all for your patience. You could have bothered me a thousand times to update this, but you were kind enough to wait, and I'm so grateful for it. This chapter is nearly ten thousand words long and contains angst galore- but it wrestles with issues that are, and will continue to be, deeply important for both characters, and that makes it one of my favorites to work on. I really hope you enjoy it as well.
> 
> You'll be happy to hear that this update will be quickly followed by not one, but **two** others! The events of this chapter are followed up by two more very important conversation scenes, both of which are almost entirely complete (I just have a few hundred words to add to each to round them out). So I'll keep this chapter as the most recent for a couple days just to give people a chance to get around to it, and then you should see the other two within a few days of each other!
> 
> Chapter title is from [ "Happy Ending" by MIKA ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxA26LGI2Mc), which is a great song.

**July**

Hans’ first sign that something was wrong was how quiet Ernst was.

He had been withdrawn, in an unquantifiable and yet painfully obvious way, for several days. Ernst wasn’t _ignoring_ him, certainly— that would have been much more disconcerting. But he had been oddly slow to respond, as though constantly deep in thought. Hans didn’t know whether to ask about what was bothering him, or simply wait it out, staying silent until the issue dispersed or Ernst felt compelled to confide in him. 

After five days, though, he couldn’t stand the sight of his partner’s absent and troubled mood any longer. He brought it up later that night, when they were curled up in bed. Ernst had been quietly affectionate, nosing at the line of Hanschen’s jaw and letting his lips flutter over the man’s temple before sighing softly and settling in on his back next to him. Hans studied Ernst’s pensive profile for a few moments. Then he let the words slip from his mouth. “Love, is something wrong?”

He could see Ernst blink, although he didn’t move other than to incline his head slightly toward Hans. “Hmm?” The sound was his only verbal response.

Hans reached over to link Ernst’s fingers in his; the man’s hand twitched at the initial touch, and then he welcomed it, turning his palm up to allow the connection. “Something is troubling you,” Hans told him, trying to keep his voice comforting. “I have known you long enough to be able to tell.”

Several long moments of silence followed. “I went to church, this past Sunday,” Ernst began— then stopped, letting quiet fall over the room again.

“You go to church every Sunday,” Hans pointed out. Ernst loved church— the traditions, the Scriptures, the act of worshipping. This had been true for as long as Hans had known him.

Ernst sighed. “Yes, but now that I am older, I have been thinking.” He seemed to gather his thoughts once more; Hans kept quiet, listening, knowing this was something important to his lover. “I have wanted to be a clergyman, Hans, for as long as I can remember. But I won’t be one, will I?”

“What do you mean?” Hans asked gently, although he had an idea of what Ernst might be talking about, despite Hans’ own lack of interest in religion.

When Ernst turned his head to face him, he looked close to tears. “I only have three options,” he said with the conviction of someone who has given this considerable thought. “I can become a priest, but I would have to marry or else become celibate, forswearing all romantic intimacies, and then I would lose you. Or I could join the priesthood and remain with you, but I would be intentionally breaking my vows, doing that which the church condemns. And what kind of example would I be to my parishioners if I made myself a liar that way, even if they did not know the nature of my deceit?”

“And the third option,” Hans finished for him, ashamed at the way a hint of tension made its way into his voice. “Stay with me, and leave behind your dreams of the priesthood.”

Ernst’s eyes were so sad. “I cannot think what to do. We will be university students next year, and if I do not go into theological training at the seminary...I don’t know what I want to be, if not that.”

Hans felt his heart breaking, even as he knew the reaction was selfish. He was hurt to not be Ernst’s obvious choice. It was difficult, in that moment, to remind himself what a terrible decision this was for Ernst— and to remember that his partner’s uncertainty contained no reflection on the love he bore him. “What do you expect me to say?” Hans managed to respond, after a moment. “I am hardly unbiased, Ernst. I will naturally favor any choice in which I remain with you.” He tried to refrain from saying his next thought, but could not stop himself. “Ernst, how can you devote yourself to a religion that rejects your true self in this way? That prohibits the way in which you love another?”

If Ernst was offended by Hans’ question and the critique it contained, he gave no indication. “The ability to love God is not possessed solely by those whose behaviors are deemed acceptable by society,” he insisted. “Nor is God’s love only given to those whose sin is least.”

“And it is that open-mindedness which will make you a tremendously effective pastor,” Hans said, meaning it sincerely. “But it is not merely the love of God which makes one a clergyman. I simply cannot understand how being ostracized by such an organization does not deter you.”

“I am afraid I cannot explain,” Ernst admitted. “Perhaps I hope for a change, as improbable as it may seem. Or at least for a small corner of acceptance, somewhere.”

Hans did not know what to say for a while. The words that slipped out of his mouth were more honest than he had intended them to be. “You are thinking of leaving me.”

Ernst stared sadly at him. “Hans, it is not like that—“ he protested, and then stopped still at the look on Hans’ face, which brooked no evasion or argument. Reluctantly he said, “I recognize it is one of the ways in which the situation might be resolved, yes.”

Hans had not expected the confirmation to rend his soul the way it did. “Beloved,” he said, and his voice sounded broken.

Ernst sniffled, the first indication that he was still holding back tears. “I am being asked to choose between the two things I love the most,” he said, and Hans thought the declaration of love would make him feel better, but it only drove the dagger deeper into his heart. 

“If you choose the life of the cloth, you know I will not attempt to stop you,” he managed to say.

Ernst closed his eyes heavily. “I know,” he breathed. “It is that which makes the decision all the harder.”

They did not sleep well that night, either of them. The air was heavy with conflicted emotion and the pain of perhaps losing one another. In the morning Ernst felt no closer to a decision. The weight of his predicament, now that it was out in the open, settled fully over their day-to-day life, casting a shadow over seemingly everything. Neither one of them knew how to behave around the other— what to say, how much affection was desired or acceptable. Nothing that had been said the night before was untrue, but it tore into both of them just the same, unable to be soothed or taken back.

Ernst spent most evenings at church, for the next few days, trying to come to some conclusion. First he sat in evening Mass, listened to the songs and prayers and tried to feel soothed by them, to feel the embrace of the Church that had drawn him there in the first place. Then, once most of the other parishioners had gone, he sat and stared at the altar. The candles flickered around him, and the smell of incense still lingered in the air. He sat waiting for some certainty to find him, and when it never came, he rose and went back to his own apartment, to reckon with the equal tension his dilemma had created there.

On the third day Ernst returned home, entering the rooms they shared and finding the lights off and the air strangely empty. When he turned on the lamp he found that everything looked much the same as always— except for a slip of paper, laid carefully on the table in the center of the room. Ernst’s heart sank when he saw it, instinctively knowing that it must contain something serious. He approached the table and picked up the note, written in Hans’ neat, precise hand.

_Dear Ernst—_

_I know how much you are struggling, and if it were possible for me to offer you any assistance, believe me, I would do so instantly. But this, it seems, is a dilemma in which I will harm more than help. I feel it would be best if I were absent for a time. For one, if I remain here, I fear you will be unfairly influenced toward a decision which favors my own desires— and I wish for you to choose the path which honors **yours,** Ernst, only yours._

_For another, it would hurt me too deeply to be present when you choose a life apart from me. I wish to be spared hearing that from your lips, if I may._

_You must make this choice for yourself, my love. You will always have my deepest affection and regard— in fact, all of my heart, and all that which it contains. I remain forever yours,_

_Hanschen_

Hans had taken very little from the small room, but it seemed laid bare by his absence. Ernst sat heavily, unable to blink back the tears that welled in his eyes. He thought frantically of searching for his lover, calling him back, but through the distraught fog of his emotion, a logical part of his brain registered that Hans had a point. With him there, Ernst was significantly more likely to choose one of the options which included him— not because it was the best choice, but simply because he could not bear the thought of sending the man away. It had taken Ernst long enough to find the courage to wholeheartedly participate in a relationship; ending one, if he should indeed decide that was the best course of action, took a great deal more bravery. 

He sat there for a long time, paralyzed by something like grief, terribly aware of his own loneliness. Part of him was sure that Hans would return if he simply waited there. When the sun had fully set, he finally accepted that he was indeed alone. He fell into bed without undressing, lying there in the spreading darkness until at last his eyes closed of their own volition, and tried not to think of the coldness in the bed next to him.

\---

In the morning he came to Melchior, needing someone trustworthy with whom to discuss the matter. Melchior heard him out, and then admitted— somewhat reluctantly— that he knew where Hans had gone. When Ernst immediately asked to be told, his friend only shook his head. “You know he left so that you could come to a decision on your own, without feeling that you must be responsible for his wishes also,” Melchior reminded him when pressed for the information. “It is noble of him to give you that space. Would you really deprive him of that consideration for you?”

Ernst felt chagrined. “No,” he finally sighed, his shoulders sagging. After a moment he asked, “How long does he plan to stay away?”

“As long as it takes for you to determine where your heart is leading,” Melchior informed him gently. “If you settle on him, and you are absolutely certain in your decision, he has allowed me to tell you where he is, so that you may find him.”

Ernst had to choke out the next sentence through a throat tense and tight with emotion. “And if I decide on another course of action?”

Melchior raised an eyebrow. “Is that truly a possibility?”

Ernst stammered for a second, throwing up his hands. “It is as I told Hans— merely one option out of many. It is not what I would ever wish, and I can hardly imagine a life without him. But I am so lost, Melchior. I have had one goal in life for so long. It is not easy to accept that I may not be able to be what I have always dreamed.”

“I understand.” Melchior laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Then he admitted, “In the event that you decide the two of you should part, he has asked that I be the one to inform him. I think he deeply fears the idea of hearing it from you.”

Ernst nodded. He was blinking back tears, which made him feel ashamed, but it wasn’t possible to keep them under control. Melchior kept his hand on his shoulder, rubbing his thumb across it in a movement that proved consoling. 

“Will...will he be all right?” Ernst managed to ask. 

Melchior looked directly at him, sad but sympathetic. “He was upset, when he came to me,” he conceded. “He knows you care deeply for him, but he cannot help but be hurt by the prospect of you leaving him, however remote. You must give him time to cope with such a blow.”

“Of course,” Ernst agreed. “Thank you, Melchior, for talking me out of pursuing him.”

Melchior smiled quietly. “I did what any friend would do, Ernst. I know how much you love one another. You will work this through.”

\---

Hans had never lived on his own before.

The thought came to him as he stood in his newly rented room in Hamburg, miles away from his and Ernst’s own familiar, comfortable apartment. The distance was not excessive, but great enough that Ernst would not be able to seek him out. It was a measure of separation, and Hanschen knew they needed it, though it made his heart ache to provide it. Ernst was eager to please by nature; he had a will of his own, but could not bear the thought of hurting others. If he had to accommodate Hanschen’s feelings, Hans knew, he would undoubtedly choose the route that inflicted the least damage on him, regardless of whether it was the best one or not. Ernst would think more clearly if his lover was not there.

In truth, Hans was just as unsure as Ernst what the right course of action was. He felt in his own heart the dilemma his partner faced, and grieved with him for how irreconcilable his dreams had turned out to be. But the grief he felt was mostly his own—for he knew that in walking out the door, he might never return again. Obeying the call to ministry would require Ernst to deny his romantic desires; Hans knew it would break the man’s heart to put him aside, and did not doubt that Ernst would be incomplete if he had to deny that love, but he might still do it. Hans longed to have his lover back again, but even as he yearned for it, he knew he would not punish Ernst if he chose another life. It would devastate him, but he would understand it. He knew Ernst like he knew no one else, and respected the decision he would make.

And so he stood, in an empty room that echoed with silence. The landlady who was renting out the spare bedroom was a friendly sort of woman, and when he had arrived to follow up on her notice, she took him in with barely more than a cursory interview. He had almost nothing with him, other than a small suitcase carrying the few items he would need to get by for a few days; anything else he could obtain once he had settled in. (A part of him, silly though he knew it to be, dreamed that this voluntary exile would last only a few days, and Ernst would come to get him before he needed more than what he carried with him now. But he knew that scenario would not come to pass, though he would allow himself to cling to it a while longer.) 

He had not truly felt alone until now. The trip had felt like a blur, in which he could imagine that he was just travelling without Ernst, as he might sometimes expect to do; but now he stood in this room that had nothing of Ernst in it, a place that wasn’t for him, and the weight of his act hit him. _I’ve never lived alone before,_ he thought suddenly. _I didn’t think I’d ever live without him._

The idea that troubled him most was the possibility that maybe, despite everything, Ernst would think Hanschen had abandoned him. It corresponded to a deep-seated, secret doubt in his own mind, an angry part that felt himself weak for not staying, for leaving Ernst alone to confront his own demons. Forgiving himself for that… well, that would be almost as arduous a process as Ernst’s path to choosing his own future. For now, though, exhausted and wrung-out, he sank into a chair and just let himself _stop._ There was nothing more that could be done.

\---

After nearly four months had gone by, Hans started to give up hope that Ernst would be coming back to him. Melchior had not included any such news in his letters— there was little mention of Ernst in them at all, in fact— and Hanschen did not have the mettle to ask him directly; he would have to be a masochist to ask for information he so patently did not want to hear. But the weeks upon weeks of distance seemed to speak for themselves. Hans had initially allowed a numbness to overcome him when he’d separated from his partner, pushing back his emotion in the interest of staying firm in his convictions. In recent weeks, though, he could feel the ache of heartbreak seeping its way into his body. The longer his exile stretched on, the less he was able to hold it back.

Eventually, autumn began to spread in full outside, a chill finding its way into the once-overwarm air and nature reaching toward hibernation. By that time, Hans was too immersed in his Greek studies to pay it much mind. He spent most of his days spread out at the small table in his rented room, poring over texts and drafting translations of key passages. Initially after the parting from Ernst, the methodical act of translating Greek had helped keep his mind focused, distracting him from his difficult emotions and giving him something else to occupy his thoughts. Now Hans found it was a comfort, one of the few things that kept him calm and happy, as the pain of being alone finally overtook him.

He was so busy that when a knock sounded at the door, he did not even turn around, only calling out an absent “Come in” in the direction of the entrance. Often his landlady, a nice middle-aged woman, or one of her four children stopped in to say hello and inquire about his activities around this time. The brief company was routine and welcomed. When the door opened and no familiar voice of woman or child greeted him, however, he paused his pen and turned around.

What Hans saw before him nearly made him drop the pen in shock. Ernst had entered the room and was hesitating just within the threshold, looking unsure of the welcome he would receive. Truthfully, Hans wasn’t certain what his reaction should be to the situation either. Relief and anxiety and something oddly like frustration warred in his mind, and he couldn’t say which would come out when he opened his mouth. What actually emerged was a small incoherent sound, before he finally managed to say any words at all. 

“Ernst.” The speaking of his lover’s name came out very small.

“Hans,” Ernst replied, still seeming timid. “May I come in?”

Hans managed a vague nod. When Ernst had approached the table, he finally said, “Melchior... He didn’t say you were coming.” _He didn’t warn me,_ was what Hans meant. _I would have prepared myself, if he’d told me._

Ernst lowered himself into a chair near Hans. “I am sorry, truly,” he said, looking at him with worried eyes. “When Melchior told me where you were, I came straight away. He wouldn’t have had time to send you any word.”

“Have you made a decision, then?” Hans asked, cursing himself mentally for how weak his voice sounded.

Ernst nodded, exhaling deeply. “Shortly after you went away,” he said, and Hans didn’t miss the slight way his voice broke at the statement, “I went to consult with a priest at a different church, one who did not know me. I hoped he would be able to give me some advice that my own priest might not. When I told him of my dilemma, he said—“ Ernst’s voice cracked again, clearly emotional about what he was preparing to say, but he continued, “He said it would be best if I did not pursue the priesthood. If it would require me to deny and repress something crucial to my identity, he said, it was unwise to put myself through that ordeal.”

“Oh, Ernst,” Hans said with genuine sympathy. He knew how much of a blow that must have been for his lover.

Ernst shuddered out a breath and wiped a small tear from the corner of his eye. “Apparently, many candidates for the clergy who attempt the profession with this mentality ultimately leave the priesthood. He was kind about telling me this, thankfully, because if he had been harsh I would hardly have been able to handle such news.”

Hans yearned to take his hand, but did not know if he was allowed. “What will you do?”

Ernst sniffled again, but his expression cleared slightly. “Actually, the priest did recommend an alternate course of action. He suggested that I continue to be engaged in the church, of course, as a lay leader and a servant at mass, and that I engage in penitence for my sins. But he also advised that I go into the field of theological academic study— to become a religious scholar, I suppose. I would be able to spend my time immersed in the texts and liturgies I love so much, even if I could not administer the sacraments personally. It is not my ideal calling, but...” He managed a small, tremulous smile. “I think it will suit.”

Hans felt suffused with a sudden thrill. “Is this...I mean, do you mean to say...” He looked up at Ernst fully, feeling shaky and nervous. “Are you returning to me?”

A slight fire entered Ernst’s gaze. “You say _returning_ as though I were the one who has left,” he reminded Hans; there was no resentment in his voice, but it was a small jab of a comment, all the same. 

Hans sagged a little. “That is fair,” he conceded. “I feared the pain your decision might cause, and only thought of sparing myself that pain. I did not think about how such an action might affect you.”

“That is not true, Hans,” Ernst said sadly, the fire of his initial accusation leaving him as quickly as it had surfaced. “Your leaving was difficult, yes, but necessary and selfless. You put my interests above your own, which is more than I could do.”

Hans gave a mirthless laugh. “We must stop speaking so low of ourselves, I think,” he said. 

Ernst gave him a small smile. “Yes, I agree,” he said. “And to answer your question...I do intend to return to you. If you would have me.”

Hans reached out slowly, as though he still could not believe he was able to touch. Ernst’s own hand slid across the surface of the table to graze the pads of their fingers together, a fleeting contact that sent sparks straight up Hans’ spine. In a second he had risen from his seat, bridging the gap between himself and Ernst in two great steps and grabbing the man’s face in his hands to tilt it up firmly and place his lips on Ernst’s. The kiss was a familiar thing; no matter what might change between him and Ernst, Hanschen knew the feel of this man’s skin, the affection in his touch. Ernst met him with equal vigor, tilting his body towards Hans in the chair. His legs slid apart slightly, and Hans recognized it as an unconscious invitation. He lowered himself into Ernst’s lap, keeping their lips connected as they kissed and kissed and kissed. Hans felt his body reacting to the contact, but paid it no attention at all. The gratification it demanded was of little importance, at the moment. 

The kiss became a slow, languid sliding of their lips against each other, a prolonged contact that neither of them wanted to break. When they finally separated enough to breathe, Hans continued to nuzzle his nose against Ernst’s; the burst of affection made them both smile. “I missed you,” Ernst said, a hand coming to rub against the hollow of his hip through his shirt. 

“Every day,” Hans responded immediately, settling their bodies in closer together. “I felt your absence every day we were apart. I have missed you so very much.”

Ernst gave him another small kiss. “I feel almost as though it would be presumptuous to ask, but...would you come to bed with me?” he asked with a faint blush. 

Hans felt a rush of affection for the fact that even as a grown man, Ernst still blushed at implying anything less than innocent to him. The fondness was mixed with a giddy delight and heady arousal at the thought of taking Ernst to his bed. “It’s midday,” he laughed, although his case was hindered by the fact that he punctuated the statement with a hitch of their hips together, highlighting their mutual interest.

“Oh, well, if you would rather continue working at your Greek—“ Ernst teased, moving as though to extricate himself from beneath Hans and step away.

Hans prevented his flight with a hand on his upper arm, laughing again as he did so. His voice sounded lighter and happier than he’d heard it in a long time. “Don’t you dare,” he scolded, catching Ernst in another kiss before he could get too far away. After a few moments he pulled back and said, “I would love nothing more than to take you to bed. But only to sleep and lie together, for now. Anything more would be...too much, this soon.” The rush of being reunited with his lover was jarring enough. Sex would be overwhelming with his mind in this state.

Ernst acquiesced, and Hans could tell from his body language that he had made the right choice; as much as their bodies and minds both wanted that connection, neither of them had the energy for sex right now. They went over to the bed, one they had never slept in together before, and Hans had the presence of mind to lock the door to his rooms before getting in. (His landlady might be tolerant, perhaps, but best to avoid any awkward discoveries— understanding or not.) Curling in toward Ernst felt like the most natural thing in the world. They faced each other, despite the fact that it was not the most comfortable cuddling position; it was more important to be able to see one another, and to kiss when it felt like too much time had elapsed since their lips were connected. They made out until Ernst’s lips started going slack, his body tired from the strain of travel and the excitement of the day. Hans watched him drift naturally into sleep, transfixed. Only when Ernst was deep in a restful doze did Hans do the same.

He woke to the spreading warmth of gentle fingers in his hair, the perfect way to draw him back into the world. Ernst was carding his fingers through the strands lazily; every once in a while he would drag his nails lightly over his scalp and scratch at the delicate skin there, which always made Hans weak-kneed. He all but purred, his body unsure whether to be relaxed or aroused. It seemed to settle for a little of both— he melted into the mattress at the same time as his hips gave a barely perceptible twitch, and the combined rushes of sensation made him feel so good he could cry.

Ernst dove in to capture his lips, fingers wrapping themselves fully in Hans’ hair as he did so. Hans moaned, half at the kiss and half at the scintillating tug of his lover’s fingers there. Ernst kept kissing him with relentless fervor. Then he pulled back. “Is it still too soon?” he asked, and the question was not impatient or goading or even flirtatious— simply inquisitive, respectful of Hans’ consent and intent on earning it and receiving it before he went any further.

Hans’ mouth went dry with desire. “No,” he said, and meant it honestly. The opposite was now true: if he didn’t get his hands on Ernst as soon as possible, he felt as though he might fall apart. Ernst smiled faintly and shifted so he was half on top of Hans, more an overlap of bodies than a full-on straddle, and rested his hands fully on Hans’ sides. Feeling Ernst there, and having contact once again where there had been none for some time, sent a rush of pure delight through him, the flood of endorphins lighting up his whole body with excitement. It was only now that he realized how touch-starved he had been without his lover’s—or anyone’s—constant affection.

He must have looked transcendently content, for Ernst’s smile grew in both size and fondness. “Did I forget so soon how easy you are to please?” he questioned, lifting Hans’ shirt to press a kiss to his belly.

Hans chuckled, the sound more a quick, anticipatory huff of breath. “We must do more to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything else,” he insisted, and Ernst laughed, pillowing his head on Hans’ stomach when it dropped there. 

“What would you like, then?” Ernst asked easily. “Clearly it has been long enough for my old age to set in, so maybe I’ve forgotten— but I seem to remember a great many things we used to do.” He winked, just to see the mirth in his eyes matched by Hans.

Hans had to think only for a moment. “I would like to be as connected as we can be,” he said, and Ernst knew exactly what type of connection he was referring to.

“Indeed,” he agreed with certainty. “You in me, or the other way round?” He was faintly flushed with shyness at the words again, and Hans yearned to lunge forward and kiss the blush off of his cheeks— but found himself impaired by the desire that flowed into his veins at the offer Ernst had made. Hans immensely enjoyed being penetrated himself, even though he usually took the reverse position in sex with Ernst. 

And yet... “We can have the best of both worlds,” he said with a smile, dragging Ernst bodily over until he was sitting atop Hans, knees on either side of his stretched-out legs. “Me inside you, but you on top?”

It was a position they had rarely tried, but always with excellent results. It did involve Ernst doing a lot of the work, and put Ernst’s body so on display that he said he didn’t feel very sexy when he did it (no matter how much Hans maintained that the sight of Ernst undulating up and down on his erection was honestly one of the sexiest things he had ever seen). But not even Ernst could deny that it felt _amazing._ Judging by the sounds he made, Hans could tell the position rode against his sweet spot in all the best ways, and the massage of it against his cock made it intensely satisfying to Hans as well. And he loved it for another reason too— Ernst, who was normally so insecure about his sexual abilities, was forced to chase and seek his own pleasure, with Hans taking a secondary role in leading him to his release. Nothing was sexier, to Hans, than when Ernst listened to what his body wanted and endeavored to get it.

Ernst turned a deeper scarlet and buried his face in Hans’ neck, letting the man cup the back of his head in his big hand and cradle it there. It was a gesture of shyness, almost of vulnerability, but Hans knew it did not indicate a lack of consent. Ernst was motivating himself for the task at hand, psychologically speaking (though not physiologically— Hans was pleased to note that part was happening all on its own). He canted his hips up to nudge against Ernst, hoping the movement would encourage him along. Ernst exhaled sharply, nuzzled his face inward to suck a kiss into Hans’ neck, and then they both set upon the task of removing their clothes. 

Every inch of Ernst’s skin revealed to Hans was bliss. He had missed it, he realized; every freckle, every bit of fat and muscle and hair, every imperfection and bruise and scar from their boyhood days. If his body had not been urgently demanding they move hastily, he would have loved to explore the contours of his lover’s body for as long as Ernst could remain still (and maybe create a few marks of his own to add to the sight, while he was at it). As it happened, he couldn’t resist that last impulse. Once Ernst had managed to remove his shirt, Hans took the opportunity to draw his head back down again, angling it so he had the perfect access to his neck, then sucking and nipping until he had produced a mottled purpling mark that stood out against Ernst’s skin. Ernst gasped at the mix of pain and pleasure, biting his own lip as Hans soothed the bruise with his tongue and then broke away.

Once trousers and undergarments were off and both of them were naked, Hans scrambled for the lubricant he kept in his bedside table. (He had not sought any sexual company in the lull of his and Ernst’s relationship, but such salve was useful when he needed to get off on his own.) At the first press of Hans’ fingers into Ernst’s opening, the other man shuddered out a breath, trying to relax after so many weeks of not being stretched and loosened.

“You feel tight,” Hans commented mildly as he moved his fingers back and forth, edging them in bit by bit. “Did you never do this to yourself, when I was away?”

Ernst whined a little and tried to angle his body to get more stimulation. It was ineffective at that point, judging by the slight frustration on his face. “Only once,” he admitted, and Hans felt a tremor shock its way through his own body at the thought of Ernst with fingers up his ass, going to such lengths to pleasure himself. “You had been gone a while. I did not know it was possible for the body to miss someone, as well as the heart.”

Now the desire was joined by a wave of fondness. “And how does it feel now?” he asked.

Ernst smiled, though he was panting with need. “Just right,” he said. “I think the priest was correct in at least one way.”

Hanschen groaned. “Can we not talk about your priest when we are in the middle of sexual intercourse?”

“You will want to hear this, though,” Ernst told him, and Hans listened patiently. “I would not have lasted, in the priesthood. If I missed you this badly in the course of a few weeks— I cannot imagine how much more in a lifetime.”

“Oh, Ernst,” Hans said affectionately, and pulled him down for a kiss. His fingers were not dislodged in the action, and in fact, the change in configuration provided him with just the right leverage to finally reach Ernst’s prostate. Ernst moaned, the sound muffled by Hans’ mouth on his. He continued to make small desperate sounds as Hans moved his fingers back and forth, scissoring and massaging the inner parts of his hole to make him even more stretched out. After a minute Ernst was rolling his hips forward and back, alternately seeking friction against Hans’ cock and bearing down on the fingers inside him. Such wantonness would probably embarrass him if it was pointed out, but Hanschen relished the sight. 

When both of them were straining upwards with arousal and Ernst felt limber enough to take him, Hans nudged him to straighten back into a sitting position. He simply let his cock rub back and forth against the man’s opening for a minute, not breaching yet. Ernst’s teeth worried at his bottom lip again. “You have set me quite a challenge,” he said in a breathy voice, hitching every time the slick head of Hans’ cock passed across his backside.

Hans raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“It is...” his breath stuttered again, “particularly difficult for me to keep quiet, in this position.”

_Oh._ Hans had nearly forgotten about the family in other parts of the house. Most of them would be gone at this hour of the day, but there was still a chance of one or another being around to overhear. “ _Too_ difficult?”

Ernst smiled at him, eyes bright with desire. “We shall see, I suppose.”

So he was up for the challenge, then. Hans grinned. “I am willing, if you are.” He reached down to grasp his erection, holding it steady so that Ernst could join them together. At first there was a bit of resistance, but once Ernst relaxed into it, Hans slid in easily. From the moment he bottomed out, he could see Ernst trying not to make noise, the position already wondrously good for him. Hans said, half daring and half sincere, “You may forfeit at any time, and we will find something less trying on your restraint.”

“Oh,” was all Ernst said in response at first, quietly, in a voice almost awestruck. Then he said, “You wait until this moment, when I feel I could not stop even if I wanted to, to bring this up?”

“Oh, that _is_ promising,” Hans said with a grin. “I will have to remember that you are so easily undone by this. We have always had to be quiet, Ernst, but how long has it been since I have tried to make you scream?”

Ernst bit back a whimper that wanted to be something much louder. “Now is— not the time,” he managed, beginning to rock back and forth slightly on Hans’ cock as the need for movement became more urgent.

“No,” Hans agreed, tilting his hips upward to give Ernst a little bit more pressure against his sweet spot. Ernst moaned, possibly a bit more openly than he’d intended, and cut himself off with a harsh gasp. “But we must, at some point, find a place to stay where we are quite alone. I’d like nothing more than to make you hoarse, Ernst, from shouting your pleasure to the sky.”

He had always been good at using his words to get Ernst going, but it seemed the prospect he’d just described was particularly effective. Ernst began moving with more vigor, pulling up a few inches and then pushing back down so that Hans’ cock drove a little harder against his prostate. Hans had a sudden powerful memory of teaching him this position; neither of them had any prior experience with it before their first time together, but they had tried it the other way round initially, with Hans being penetrated and straddling Ernst. It had been so good Hans had been quite unable to do anything except collapse onto the bed for a few minutes afterward. Some days later he convinced Ernst to try it the other way, happy to guide him through the things that might feel good. The fact that after all this time, Ernst remembered— had taken his guidance to heart and felt comfortable enough to utilize it unprompted— was heartening indeed.

Ernst was doing a decent job of keeping his reactions under control. Every strike inside of him produced an answering harsh breath, each with a little noise attached to the end of it; those sounds got slightly more pronounced when Hanschen started arching his hips up in time with their movements, adding force to each thrust. There was something lewdly fascinating in the way Ernst’s erection was bouncing with the motion of his hips; impulsively Hans reached forward and grasped it in his fingers, so it slid steadily through the firm circle of his fist when they moved. This time Ernst did moan, definitely louder than he’d expected to. He clamped his lips down until they were nearly white as the two points of sensation sent his excitement skyrocketing. 

They were moving faster now against each other, every utterance of Ernst’s desperate and needy. Hanschen found that he too was starting to make little uncontrolled sounds, head spinning euphorically with the rush of having his partner back and indulging in this intimacy after so long. He felt a wave of emotion cresting over him, and it must have shown in his face. Ernst slowed a little, reaching down to lay his palm against Hanschen’s cheek. It didn’t matter that both of them were sweaty to the touch. “Why do you look so distressed all of a sudden?” he inquired quietly, through the labored pattern of his breathing as he came down from the exertion of canting up and down atop Hans.

“I’m not,” Hanschen insisted, even as his voice trembled slightly.

Ernst locked eyes with him, his expression equal parts kindness and concern. “Nonsense. You looked almost panicked for a moment,” he said gently. “Come now, you can tell me. Do you need to stop?”

Hans took a deep breath and felt a little of the roiling feelings in his heart settle. “No,” he said when he felt slightly recovered.

Ernst was still frowning slightly. “Please tell me what was wrong,” he urged. “I’d like to know so I don’t repeat it.”

His consideration made Hanschen’s heart ache. He took the younger man’s face in his hands, bringing it down to press close and nuzzle their noses together before initiating a light, soothing press of lips against lips. “Oh love, no, it was nothing you did,” he answered. “It has just...it has been a long time since I was accustomed to being alone. I did not realize how lonely I had been, until I had companionship again.”

Ernst stared down at him sadly. “I am sorry, that it was my crisis which caused our estrangement.”

Hans shook his head again. “Your crisis, Ernst, but my reaction. We both participated in causing it.” He smiled faintly. “It is not the first time we have been upset and caused one another hurt, and though I loathe having to say it, I am sure it won’t be the last. But I do hope it will be the only time we separate.”

“It will if I have anything to say about it,” Ernst said resolutely, and Hans smiled wider and brought him down for another kiss. Then he tilted into their point of contact once again, feeling a tremor run through Ernst at the friction. 

“Thank you for looking after me, darling,” he said against Ernst’s lips, their faces only a breath away from each other. “Now, I do seem to recall that we were in the middle of something.”

Ernst blushed slightly, which was a telltale sign he was about to request something that made him uncomfortable. Hans waited for him to come around to it, letting his hips circle ever so slightly but otherwise pulling back. “I— mmm, yes,” Ernst sighed, thought momentarily derailed by pleasure before he managed to say, “I wonder if we might change positions?”

“Too loud?” Hans said with a sly grin.

Ernst’s lip quirked up sheepishly in return. “Yes, but also...I wish to finish a different way.”

Ernst articulating his desires was one of the biggest turn-ons Hanschen had. His erection twitched a little, still buried inside Ernst, and he knew the other man couldn’t have missed noticing it. “Tell me,” he said, his voice nakedly needy with desire.

It seemed to spur Ernst on. “On my knees?”

“Yes,” Hans agreed immediately, and though he still seemed embarrassed at asking, Ernst visibly relaxed at the affirmation. Carefully he rose from on top of Hans, letting the man’s cock slip free from inside him; then they maneuvered around one another so that Ernst could arrange himself on all fours, propped up on his elbows and knees with his backside exposed. It was a position that, to Hans’ mind, put him just as much on display as the one they had just been in, but in a very different way. He ran firm hands up the thickness of Ernst’s thighs, feeling the muscles there under his palms. “Yes, I like this too,” he praised, knowing Ernst enjoyed hearing the words.

“You like everything,” Ernst pointed out, and Hans laughed.

“Yes, nearly,” he conceded, and then surprised Ernst by letting two of his fingers circle around the rim of his hole. They slipped in with very little effort, and both of them breathed out harshly in response. Hans didn’t waste any more time. Using his hands to spread Ernst open, he slid back inside, the movement accomplished easily since Ernst had been well stretched out by their previous activities.

This position, he knew, struck the sensitive areas inside Ernst just as well without him having to exert quite as much effort as when Ernst was on top. It had the additional benefit, also, of putting Ernst’s face level with the pillow, so that if the urge to make noise came upon him, there was something there to muffle the sound. Hans knew just how to angle his hips to bring Ernst the most stimulation, and before long he could hear the small broken sounds that meant his lover was rapidly approaching his climax. 

As it turned out, all it took was a little encouragement from Hans. He wrapped his hand once again around Ernst’s cock while pistoning into him; Ernst’s whole body jolted under him, knees buckling slightly, and when Hans kissed his shoulder and murmured “Go on” at just the right moment, he groaned and came apart, shuddering his way into a magnificent orgasm. Hans was struck for a moment by how much he’d missed seeing this. Ernst was sweaty and shaky and looked utterly wrecked, and to Hanschen, there were few times he appeared more beautiful. 

When Ernst was nearly done coming, only racked by a small aftershock every few moments, he turned his head to look back at Hans. “Did you—“ he started to ask.

Hans blinked at him. “Not— not yet,” he said. “Would it be too much if I—“ 

They were rubbish at finishing their sentences in this state, but luckily, Ernst seemed to know exactly what he was asking: Hans did not want to bring himself to completion inside him if the overstimulation would be unpleasant for Ernst. But Ernst was already shaking his head. “Go on,” he consented, resting his head on his folded arms so that it would be supported and Hans’ thrusts would only drive him up into the soft surface of the pillows. Hans made a tentative thrust, and Ernst let a small weak sound escape his mouth, body tensing at the contact on an area already tingling with sensitivity.

It didn’t take Hans long to reach the precipice of his pleasure, but it was long enough to have Ernst muffling his noises into the pillow again, his body trembling slightly with this much stimulation post-orgasm— but he seemed happy, so Hans didn’t feel badly about it. In a few more strokes he was right _there_ , and he drove into Ernst with a particularly decisive thrust, feeling the man cry out helplessly in response. The warmth from his orgasm flooded through his body and coursed out into Ernst, and he panted through it with his front plastered to Ernst’s back, the two of them sagging as one into the bed.

Long moments passed. Once Hans felt himself settling, he mouthed at Ernst’s neck. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he inquired, checking that the way their evening had proceeded, though entirely agreed upon and consented to, had not brought any unexpected consequences.

Ernst immediately turned over underneath him so they were facing one another, running his hands over Hanschen’s skin. “No love, of course not, that was lovely,” he replied, his voice breathy and silky and contented.

Hans found himself smiling. “Yeah?”

Ernst was grinning too. “Mmm-hmm,” he said. He was stretched out beneath Hans blissfully, heedless of their damp skin and the slickness between his legs and across his thighs. They were a mess, both of them, but happy and sated.

Hans was shocked, then, to find tears stinging at his eyes. It had been a long time since he had cried during or after sex—the only other instance had been the first time he had bottomed for Ernst, when the relief of having an experience he’d long craved had made him embarrassingly weepy. Now, a similar relief—this one more emotional than physical—was building in him. A small sob wracked his body before he could choke it back, and he buried his face in the pillow next to Ernst, feeling ashamed.

“Darling,” he heard Ernst murmur next to him, a gentle hand nudging against his head. “Don’t hide. Come here.” He inhaled another shaky breath and turned his slightly damp face into Ernst’s chest. This reaction, he knew, was merely a product of the increased sensations during sex; coming down from such a high brought an emotional release as well, making it harder to push away strong feelings that he would normally not let out. But he still felt humiliated by it.

Ernst soothed him with fingers in his hair, just the way they had started not long before. Hans lay still against him, shuddering every few moments with a vulnerability both physical (he was not exactly operating at peak physical capacity post-orgasm) and emotional, as he processed the events of the last few months. He was grateful that Ernst did nothing except hold him. When the moment passed and he felt a bit less undone, he glanced up to see what reaction Ernst’s face held; there was concern, but only mildly. He seemed to know what Hans was feeling, and the predominant expression on his face was one of patience and kindness.

So Hans moved up and let Ernst thumb away the moisture tracks on his cheeks, and then kissed him lovingly, lazily, as he had wanted to for so long. His sabbatical from the relationship had felt difficult and painful before, but it was only now that he felt this rented room had been a kind of prison, a cell he’d created to barricade himself away from the world. Letting Ernst in was like opening the curtains to allow light through. His mind echoed the sentiment Ernst had expressed only a few minutes earlier: _if these few months of separation were so painful, it is hard to imagine what a lifetime apart would be like._

Ernst ran a gentle thumb over the edge of Hanschen’s mouth until his movements coaxed a smile, however small, onto his lips. Hanschen playfully nibbled on the finger, and Ernst didn’t even flinch at the sting of it, accustomed to Hanschen’s flirtatious actions and too sated and lazy to muster much effort in response. Hans pressed a kiss to the spot he’d bitten. “What will we do now?” he asked, calm once again.

“Go home,” Ernst responded. The prospect sent a thrill through Hans, and something in his demeanor must have made that evident, because Ernst threaded their fingers together and kissed the back of his hand. “We’ll go home, Hans. We’ll make a life together. Just as it should be.”

Hans squeezed his lover’s hand. “I am sorry for what you have had to give up, to make it so.”

He expected Ernst to evade the issue and downplay its magnitude in favor of offering reassurance. But the reaction he actually gave was more honest. “Me too,” he admitted, after a moment of silence. “But I do not regret it, and I _will_ not regret it. That is what matters.”

They lay there for a few minutes more, sweat drying on their skin, languid and comfortable in each other’s arms. It was Ernst who finally stood, drawing Hanschen up with him. “Come on,” he said decisively. “We should get washed up.” He took Hanschen’s face in his hands, a smile playing at his lips. “I want to go home.”

He took off towards the adjoining washroom. Hanschen couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he followed.

\---

Hans’ return to their hometown felt almost triumphant. Melchior was the only one who had known that Ernst was coming to get him, and even then, he only knew because he provided Ernst with the instructions on where to find Hans. The surprised looks on their friends’ faces when the two of them came into the room where they routinely gathered, together, were well worth the decision not to tell anyone. Hans was immediately enveloped in hugs and excited questions when the group saw him; when they noticed he and Ernst were together, he could see the barely contained approval on their faces. He knew his and Ernst’s separation could not have gone unnoticed. This, more than anything, proved that they had the support and affection of their friends where their romantic relationship was concerned.

Ernst seemed at first to be giving him some distance during the reunion. Hanschen supposed he was trying to let him catch up with their friends on his own, not wanting to steal the spotlight and hog all of Hans’ attention for himself. But Hans still, almost a day later, felt light-hearted and drunk on his lover’s very presence, and craved having him near at all times. So at last, when Ernst tried to discreetly pass by as Hans was conversing with Melchior and a few others, Hans reached out to gently grab him by the arm. Ernst paused in his circuit of the room, confused; when Hans pulled him toward his body and down into his lap, Ernst went slightly pink and his eyes softened happily. The reaction sent contented warmth flooding through Hans’ body. He guided Ernst’s head down so he could drop a kiss on the shorter man’s forehead, and then kept him sitting there with light but possessive hands, talking around the presence of his body on Hans’ lap.

Again, he noticed the fondness his friends reacted with when they saw how affectionate and close he and Ernst were. He mentioned it to Melchior when Ernst finally disengaged himself and disappeared for a few minutes. Melchior’s response was matter-of-fact. “It has been a difficult time for Ernst,” he reminded Hans. “He had many unpleasant choices to make, and his only mood was a sad one for most of the time you were gone. After he visited that priest…well, for a few days afterward he would be fine when he was with us, but whenever we saw him after he had been alone, he looked pained, as though he had just been crying. It was a hard thing for us to witness, as his friends. And I don’t wish you to misinterpret this, Hanschen; I wholeheartedly believe you were right to give him space and let him find his way. Everyone else knows and believes that too. But your absence these past months has been… _conspicuous_.”

Hans knew what he meant. When one half of a person is gone, it is impossible not to notice the lack, the empty space where that essential element used to be. Even in Hamburg, his landlady and her family looked at him differently when Ernst arrived—as though something had been missing from their idea of him before, and they were just beginning to see it there for the first time. He had been no more complete without Ernst than Ernst had been without him. 

“Surely the others did not think I wanted to leave him,” Hans said after a moment.

Melchior shook his head. “Of course not,” he agreed. “The reverse, actually—they knew how much pain it must have caused you. I think it was difficult for them to have you go with so little word. I would happily have forwarded letters from them, naturally, but I think no one quite knew the extent of the isolation you wished to have.” He gave Hans a self-effacing smile. “Including me, as it happens.”

Hans gave him a small smile. “Your letters were very welcome,” he reassured. “It was a lonely time for me too. I much prefer being back here with all of you.”

They stayed until well after nightfall, Hans basking in the attention of his friends and the contentment of the autumn evening. It was almost midnight when Ernst leaned over and whispered in his ear, “I want you home.” That was enough to get him out the door, to his flat and his bed and his love—exactly where, all along, he had always wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and tell me what you thought! I'm here or [on tumblr](http://imaginedmelody.tumblr.com), as always. <3


	8. A Slow Landslide, and the World We Leave Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ernst and Hanschen, home from the reunion with their friends, finally talk things through properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the two post-script chapters that come with Ch. 7. This one is Ernst-centric, primarily. Chapter title from "Underwater" by MIKA, because once I've started the trend of titling chapters after MIKA lyrics, it becomes a challenge and I can't break it!

“What did you think about, while I was gone?”

They were curled up in bed together, after the reunion with their friends—naked and kiss-sore from having made out for quite some time, but not in the mood for sex at the moment. Hanschen asked this question with his nose pressed into Ernst’s shoulder; his head fell forward a bit, dislodged slightly when Ernst turned a little to face him. “What’s that?”

Hanschen kept his head down, fingers tapping and tracing lightly on Ernst’s skin. “While we were apart. What was it like for you, during that time? I want to know.”

Ernst reached out to stroke the side of Hans’ face. “No you don’t,” he said quietly at last, his soft and knowing voice requesting full honesty.

Hans sighed. “No, but it is something you should be able to tell me, and I should be able to hear. I cannot avoid everything which is difficult or unpleasant for me.”

Through his peripheral vision, he could see Ernst leaning over until he hovered above him; then gentle lips ghosted over his forehead, offering encouragement and comfort in equal measure. The words themselves came a few seconds later. “I had so many doubts, about everything,” Ernst admitted. “I was consumed by them, at times.”

“What sort of doubts?” Hans asked.

Ernst considered his response for a moment before speaking. “I wondered many times whether God could truly look down on a man for loving another man. I know the Bible, and what’s there is plain—or at least it seems so to me. But sometimes I would think: of all the sins a man could commit, is sodomy really so great to condemn him? It is not such a perverted thing, as other sexual sins are; no one is hurt or degraded in the act of it, unless it is done violently or wrongly. So why should such limits be placed on love?”

Hans felt his heart, big and warm, in his chest. “I admire your capacity for progressive thought,” he commented, his lips soft against Ernst’s neck. “Have I ever told you that?”

Ernst managed a small smile, half-obscured by the pillow. “Once or twice,” he responded, and smiled a bit wider at Hans’ chuckle.

“Did you come to any conclusion on the matter?” Hans inquired.

“Not entirely,” Ernst admitted. “The other side of the debate is a bit less forgiving, I’m afraid. There remains the possibility that I only feel so positively about loving another man because it is what _I_ want. Naturally we rationalize our own desires to make them legitimate as well as appealing, and view the sin we wish to commit as lesser in magnitude than others we naturally would avoid. Perhaps what I—what we all—are truly meant to do is refuse our earthly inclinations in favor of what God asks. That is in the Bible as well, after all.”

“It sounds like rather a depressing life.”

“True, but it is the logic by which many in my position choose it,” Ernst reminded him. “They live unfulfilled in one sense, in hope of one day being satisfied in another. It is hardly uncommon.”

Their eyes met, and Hanschen looked at him seriously. “But you felt you could not accept that unfulfillment.”

Ernst’s gaze was equally serious. “I could hardly even imagine it,” he said at last. “That was when I knew my decision was made.”

Hans gave him a sad smile. “If you are damned, then I am sorry for it, because it is my fault,” he half-joked. He was not sure he believed in hell or purgatory or condemnation, but if Ernst did and this was his great sin, then that made Hanschen his tempter, and that was a heavy burden for even the most disbelieving heart to bear.

Ernst leaned in to kiss him soundly on the lips, chasing away those hints of guilt. “You cannot blame yourself,” he murmured against his lips, “for what was already in me. I’ll hear none of that from you.” Hans nodded, smiling a little at the scolding. They lay curled together for a while before Ernst added, “In the end, I kept coming back to God as our Father, our parent. I thought to myself, if I had a child who had done something I forbade, which was against the rules I had set, how would I deal with that child? I would punish him, of course. But what if the sin were done out of love for another, and hurt no one in any evident way? He would still have done what I deemed wrong, and perhaps I would be disappointed, or disapproving. But I would forgive him. And nothing he could ever do would cause me to punish him forever.” He kissed Hans’ temple. “I have to believe our Holy Father would do the same for us.”

Hans was beginning to understand, at last—to see faith the way Ernst saw it. “Even if that child committed the same indiscretion over and over again, despite your disappointment?” he ventured to ask. His chest felt tight with emotion.

Ernst smiled back at him. It was a sad expression in some ways, but also open and loving and gracious. “I think, in the end, of what Jesus Christ taught us.”

“And what is that?” Hans whispered, although he had been to church before, though not often, and so he already knew.

Ernst reminded him anyway, in an equally hushed voice. “That it is more important to have a good heart than to follow all the laws.”

Hans let his hand wander up to Ernst’s chest, feeling the aforementioned heart beat steadily against his fingers. Finally he said, “Then you are saved without question, because yours is the best heart I have ever encountered.”

“Hanschen,” Ernst whispered above him, and his voice sounded broken, choked off. Hans looked up and saw that same tightness in his face—not anger, and not sadness either precisely, but emotion so great he couldn’t quite process it. He leaned over to kiss the spot on Ernst’s jaw just underneath his chin, and felt the vibration of his partner’s quiet murmur underneath his lips. 

“Are you sure this Father you speak of would not feel we have disrespected him, by knowingly disregarding his commands?” Hans questioned, after a few minutes of staring at their intertwined fingers against the sheets and listening to the combined sound of their breathing. “Many fathers would grow frustrated by such rebelliousness, no matter how well-intentioned.”

Ernst sighed, not out of exasperation or frustration; it was a contemplative sound. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “But perhaps when we do such a thing, we do not claim to be more right than God. It is not that his law is wrong, and we know better than him. It is that he judges us by what is in our hearts—that which we show the world, and that which we keep secret deep in our souls. In my mind, the child who can think for himself and act of his own free will out of love for another is braver and more admirable than one who spends his entire life conforming to the will of his Father. If he can see into our hearts, and know where there is good and where there is evil, then our love must redeem us in the end.” 

A fond smile spread over Hanschen’s face; hearing Ernst’s words of wisdom never failed to make him feel better about the world. “What a privilege, then—to honor God by loving you,” he whispered. He shifted up to kiss Ernst on the mouth, a gentle shared breath more than anything else, and then nuzzled his nose into the man’s hair, a hand coming up to the other side of his head to tangle fingers in the loose strands.

The silence stretched between them. Ernst seemed to have sobered considerably, and Hanschen waited to see what would happen. It took a long time for Ernst to speak again. “There were times, while you were gone,” he said very slowly, “when I felt so terribly hopeless. As though nothing would ever be right again.”

This was a revelation Hans had expected, but dreaded all the same. He grazed his lips gently against Ernst’s temple. “Oh, love,” he murmured, voice laced with sympathy. To be entirely honest, he had felt the same way on several occasions—but it tore his heart in two to think that his departure had inflicted such a painful burden on Ernst.

“I felt abandoned by God,” Ernst continued in a strained near-whisper, “and terrified to give up the life I held so dear. And without you there, I did not know where else to turn. I thought perhaps I had lost that too.”

 _You could never lose that,_ Hanschen thought, but did not say it; he assumed Ernst already knew, now that the worst of the worry had passed. “Our friends—“ he began, but Ernst stopped him. 

“—wanted to help,” he admitted. “But the magnitude of my dilemma was such that I could not begin to describe it to them. And painful enough that I did not wish to try.”

Hanschen’s throat felt tight, his heart guilty. He did not know what to say. “I wish I had not left,” he managed, after a moment. “I wish I had been there to comfort you.”

Ernst turned his face toward him. “I know I am upsetting you,” he replied, “and I am sorry for it. I do not want you to feel responsible for my suffering.”

Hanschen gave him a sad grimace of a smile. “We are joined, you and I,” he reminded Ernst. “Two of us as one. It is my duty to make your suffering my responsibility.”

Ernst laughed shakily. “Sweetheart,” he said kindly, a tear sliding down his cheek from the corner of one eye.

“And I failed to do that,” Hans finished. “I absented myself when you needed me most, in an effort to protect myself. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I forgive you,” Ernst said immediately, more tears falling now. “Hanschen, love, it’s all right.” He sniffled, burying his face in Hans’ neck. “Look at us.”

“We are such a mess,” Hanschen said tremulously, agreeing—but Ernst shook his head.

“No,” he said. “It’s beautiful.” He smiled. “It’s love.”

Hanschen felt overwhelmed. He curled in close to Ernst, and murmured reassurances to him until Ernst closed his eyes and took one long, deep breath. Then he did what Hans knew he had needed to do since they reunited: he finally broke down and cried. Ernst had been racked with so many doubts, and had to shoulder that burden for so long—but Hans knew he could not force the release of emotion from him. It had to emerge naturally.

Ernst sobbed into his neck, and Hanschen held him silently, rubbing his thumb against his lover’s shoulderblades as the man cried himself out. He hadn’t heard Ernst cry that desperately, with such uncontrolled emotion, since the first day they had truly been together as a couple, the day they had received the news of Wendla’s passing. Then it had been a death of one of their friends that had triggered such an emotional outburst—but now, in some sense, it was the death of a part of Ernst himself that he grieved. A dream held onto for years, and now let go. It would take a long time for Ernst to come to terms with it, but Hans was determined to be with him for every step of the process. He was never leaving again, if he had anything to say about it.

When Ernst’s weeping had slowed, Hanschen thumbed away the wetness from beneath his eyes. Ernst looked exhausted, but his brow was furrowed, the classic sign that another thought was preoccupying him. “You thought I was never coming back for you,” he blurted out, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes and casting his gaze downward.

“I didn’t—“ he started, ready to deny it, but Ernst shook his head.

“In your letter,” he continued, “you wrote that you could not stand to be there when I chose a life apart from you. _When,_ not _if_.” He sniffled and looked up, a slight fire of indignation in his eyes just behind the sadness. “Were you really so certain that I would leave you?”

Hanschen’s heart lurched. He had regretted that wording after he’d written it, and rather hoped Ernst hadn’t picked up on it. But Ernst had doubtless read over his letter numerous times, poring over every word. Naturally he would have noticed at some point.

Ernst spoke again. “Did I really make you feel like I valued you so little?” And again, there were equal parts tremulous fear and strong-minded outrage in his voice. Hans felt secretly glad that Ernst was cross with him; it meant that there was a part of him that did not believe he had truly failed Hanschen.

So he appealed to that part of him. “There is nothing in this world I am surer of than that you love me,” he said with gentle certainty, “and that I love you.” Ernst was still looking at him accusatorily, so he continued, “Writing that letter to you was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I thought perhaps I was saying goodbye to you forever. In that moment, yes, I did despair—but Ernst, that misery was temporary.”

“So you did know I would return to you,” Ernst said. 

Hans knew, without a doubt, that Ernst was testing him—seeing if he would attempt to lie. “If I believed otherwise, it was not from a lack of faith in your love,” he explained. “You could have chosen to sever our bond, to accept a life of the cloth, and I would still know without a doubt that there had been love between us. I would not have held such a decision against you. It would have meant you would help countless others with your wisdom, your faith and guidance. That is reason enough to deprive one person of your affections.”

“You are not just _one person_ ,” Ernst said, the tears returning to his eyes. “If I had left, I would have regretted it always. I want to help others, Hans, but not if it means I must hurt you.”

Hans ran a hand over his cheek. “We will hurt each other sometimes,” he reminded him. “That is the nature of love. Sometimes it will hurt.”

It was the hardest thing to accept, that this would not always be easy for them. All the love in the world could not keep them from their own human failings and doubts and missteps. But Hans thought he had never felt closer to Ernst than in this moment, lying in bed and realizing for the first time that their bond had grown with them, in this past year. It had aged as they had, and now they stared a new love in the face, an adult love through which they would stumble, and find their way back to each other. Always, Hans knew, they would return to this center, to the place where this new mature love remained.

“ _You_ are my safe place,” Hans said quiet into his lover’s collarbone. “Always. I have never found a safer home than you.”

Ernst felt as though he would tear up. He let his eyes flutter shut, and took a deep breath, holding Hans a little tighter. “I would not be half the man I am today without you,” he confessed, his own declaration of love to match Hans’. 

“Without me, the wicked devil on your shoulder?” Hans joked, and Ernst laughed and gave him a gentle shove.

“A devil with a good heart, if you are one at all,” he replied. “But devils rarely make one better, so I doubt that you are such.”

Hanschen kissed the hollow of Ernst’s collarbone. “Thank you,” he whispered, and knew he did not have to say any more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never know how to end chapters. Sorry they're all so abrupt.
> 
> Thank you for the lovely comments on the last chapter (and every chapter)! Next up, probably Saturday or Sunday: Hans also has some things he needs to work through, and another important conversation will be had.
> 
> (Find me on tumblr [ here.](http://imaginedmelody.tumblr.com))


	9. I Was Running From the Things That You'd Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ernst isn't the only one with underlying issues he needs to talk through. Hanschen offers a revelation, and they clear the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the notes carefully! This is the only chapter I can think of that contains something people might find uncomfortable, and I want to make sure you're adequately warned. If you want to find out what it is before you read, skip down to the notes at the end of the chapter and read them before you jump in. If you think it will be upsetting for you, you can 100% skip this chapter and it won't affect your understanding of the rest of the story AT ALL. It's backstory that will likely only ever come up in vague references again in the story, if that. 
> 
> Chapter title is a lyric from ["We Are Golden"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YEdImVQVQY4) by, as always, MIKA.

For several days after Hanschen and Ernst’s return, they were inseparable. They had always been joined at the hip—even in their younger years, before they became romantically involved—but this was an attachment of a different kind. They’d restrained themselves as much as possible from sexual activity while staying in Hanschen’s rooms in the city, restricting it to a few hushed, simple encounters out of respect for their close proximity to others. At home, though, they could indulge their desires as much as they wanted. And indulge they did—in ways significantly more creative and exertive than they had allowed themselves in the days before.

Their friends gamely endured the fact that both boys were scarcely sighted during the first week of their homecoming, as well as the fact that when they _were_ seen, they carried with them the distinct impression of having been abed (or similarly occupied against another surface) in the recent past. Melchior commented with gentle mockery that they were “glowing,” which made Ernst color with a beautiful blush that lent actual truth to his friend’s words. The girls, meanwhile, smirked at Hanschen’s neck, where it was impossible to cover up the string of love bites Ernst had left; Hans suspected the concept of gentle, mild-mannered Ernst marking possession into someone’s skin was what had them so intrigued. (Hans himself was more than familiar with what lay beneath Ernst’s polite façade. Breaking through that barrier and riling him into wickedness had been fun even platonically; sexually, it bore pleasures beyond what he’d even dared to imagine.)

It was four days after their return when the conversation once again turned to solemn matters—this time unintentionally, in contrast to the first night, when speaking of unpleasant things had been an unavoidable necessity. They were engaged in their normal routine of trading intimacies; Hanschen had been brought off with almost shocking quickness by Ernst’s fingers rubbing relentlessly against his prostate, and now he was showing Ernst the same kind of attention, only with his tongue and mouth on the man’s cock instead of fingers in his arse. There were few things more gratifying than watching Ernst struggle to contain his vocal reactions as Hanschen drove him to a peak.

He kept his mouth on Ernst, lips warm and still and wrapped around his cock, until he started to soften; then he pulled off with a slowness that made Ernst shiver hard and arch his back with sensitive pleasure. Ernst panted until he finally regained the ability to form words. “How in the world did you become so good at this sort of thing?” he asked, his voice still a bit breathless.

Hans preened slightly at the compliment. “I should wonder at your questioning my experience,” he teased, pressing his lips to Ernst’s thigh. “You were a firsthand participant, after all.”

Ernst stroked gentle fingers up Hanschen’s temple, skirting the edge of his hairline, before his own head fell tiredly back into the pillows. “Yes, but you were _always_ skilled at it, even in the beginning,” he commented, as much to the ceiling as to Hanschen himself. “I was so terribly awkward when we started out. But you seemed to know all the things there were to do, and how to do them. Where did you learn it?” He lifted his head slightly again, eyebrows raised inquisitively. “Did Melchior make you a diagram too, like he did with Moritz?”

Hanschen was surprised at his first immediate impulse—to say he’d merely gone on instinct, or happened upon some other resource that had provided instruction, or simply to change the subject entirely. But he knew he should not lie to Ernst, even if the man did not know the import of what he had asked. His silence inadvertently conveyed the fact that the question had some unexpected magnitude. Ernst sat up more, attempting to look Hans in the eyes even as the other man’s gaze sought to evade him. “Hanschen?” he questioned gently.

Hanschen’s heart stumbled and pounded. He rested his chin on Ernst’s thigh; Ernst recognized the cue and tangled a hand gently in his hair, stroking and grounding him. “I had a lover, before you,” Hanschen said, when he was ready for the words to leave his mouth.

Ernst’s brow furrowed. “A lover?” he asked. “Hanschen, we have been friends for years, close enough that there could hardly be any secrets between us. I’ve never known you to be involved with any of the other boys from school. When was this?”

He was asking many questions, but had not asked the one Hans knew he had to answer first. It was not precisely _when_ this had occurred that was so important, but _with whom_. “As I said,” Hans explained hesitantly, “I had a lover. Of sorts.” Ernst’s hand in his hair stilled at something either in his partner’s ambiguous wording, or his tone. “His name was Matthias, a friend of the family, who was living in one of the towns a few miles from here. He came to visit us on many occasions, from the time I was fifteen until I was nearly seventeen. Until a few months before I began seeing you.”

“He was older than you,” Ernst surmised, “by a good bit.” His voice was calm and even, but Hans could hear the hint of steel underneath that suggested contained anger.

To placate him a little, Hanschen entwined his fingers with the hand that Ernst did not still have in his hair. His heart surged when Ernst squeezed his hand tightly, fiercely. “He was twenty-three when we began to see one another,” Hanschen finally admitted without looking directly at Ernst.

Ernst’s breath left him in a huff through his nose. “Nearly ten years your elder,” he muttered, his voice almost trembling. “I have some choice words I’d like to say to him.”

Hans was sure he did. Ernst could be fearsome when he wished to be. He’d probably put the fear of God in Matthias, if he’d had the man at hand. “I’ve no doubt,” he replied, surprised that his voice shook a bit. “But whatever advantage he took, I encouraged, Ernst. I was curious, so desperately curious. He could see that and provided opportunities for discovery. It was my choice to take them. He never compelled me.”

Ernst’s hand moved from his head down to the back of his neck, resting there as a warm and grounding weight. “What precisely did he do?”

Hans sighed. “It was more showing than doing,” he said. He finally grew bold enough to meet Ernst’s eyes, although the overwhelming concern in them nearly made him want to look away again. “You asked how I knew what men do together. I know such things because he took me to places where men congregate. There we would often observe the trysts that occurred.”

“In secret?” Ernst asked. 

“Sometimes,” Hans said, “at first. But often in these places, watching was invited. I looked just old enough to be accepted there and not seen as a child. So Matthias would take me there to look, and would explain to me what it was I saw.”

“So you observed…lovers meeting for a rendezvous,” Ernst guessed, his eyebrow gently curved upward.

“Sometimes,” Hans said again, returning the expression with a sly start of a grin. “And sometimes the encounters were more…impromptu and anonymous in nature.”

Ernst rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Yes, I see what you mean,” he deadpanned. Heartened by the slight lightening of the mood, Hans pressed a slow, fond kiss to Ernst’s belly and then moved up the bed to be closer to him. Ernst kissed his forehead, then smoothed his hair back carefully. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said, waiting until he heard Hans’ quiet mm-hmm of affirmation, “but Matthias…what sorts of things did he do _with_ you?”

Hanschen cuddled in for comfort, but the words themselves came easily and without pain. “When we would watch other men, the two of us did very little. He would talk into my ear; whatever the men we witnessed were doing, he would explain—how it worked, how it felt when done to you.”

Ernst huffed out a laugh. When Hanschen met his eyes, he saw the man was grinning. “Now I know where your talent for narration comes from.”

“That and a deeply fertile imagination,” Hans agreed, leaning down to swipe his tongue over Ernst’s nipple, just to watch as his eyelids fluttered and his train of thought visibly derailed for a moment. Ernst rolled his eyes again and tugged him up for a kiss. When they pulled apart, Hans continued without prompting. “It was tremendously arousing, and when my body responded accordingly, he encouraged me to attend to myself. Often he would be next to me, doing the same, but we only occasionally put our hands on each other in public. When we were alone…it didn’t go far, to be honest. He touched me, and let me touch him in return. It was always consensual, Ernst; he made sure of that. A few times he used his mouth on me, but I was never able to last very long for that, so it was a rare thing. It was rarer still for us to try anything more creative. For all my confidence, I came to you much more inexperienced than you would have believed.”

Ernst ran a hand down Hanschen’s back, knowing that would please him and feeling a surge of satisfaction when Hanschen melted into the contact. “So he never…went further than that?”

Hans shook his head. “I wanted it,” he said, “but Matthias didn’t. He didn’t even use his fingers; I started doing that myself, after watching him demonstrate it. He knew I was fascinated by it. Perhaps if we had continued for longer, he would have relented. But before I knew it, he had gone away to work in another city. I have not seen him since.”

“He was wrong, to do all of this,” Ernst said. His voice was quiet and understanding, but firm at the same time. This was not a point on which Ernst was willing to negotiate or argue, Hans knew. “He took advantage. He imposed himself on you, even if it did not seem like it at the time. I would have wished better for you than that.”

Hans sighed. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I know it was wrong, and I think I knew it then as well. Perhaps that was part of the allure.” He tilted his chin to look Ernst directly in the eyes. “But he did no damage, Ernst, for all that his practices were objectionable. I did not suffer at his hand, nor did I feel trauma as a result of his actions. Yes, I pined for him after his departure, like any love-struck young boy would. But I forgot him quickly. I had hardly thought of him until tonight.”

To lighten the mood a little, Ernst quirked the corner of his lip up in a smile; Hans saw the tension was leaving his features, and knew that he was letting go of his distress over this confession. “For all my objections, it would appear he has taught you well,” he joked softly, “although I presume you were rather a quick study.”

“I was too eager to be otherwise,” he admitted with a slight blush, and Ernst chuckled, low. After a moment, though, Hans pressed his lips together tightly and then steeled himself to say what had just come into his mind. “I want to apologize for something, in light of this,” he said quietly. “You will tell me I do not have to, but I _want_ to, Ernst.” Ernst’s fingers gently massaging his scalp were permission enough, so he continued, “It was because of these trysts with Matthias, I think, that I was so careless with you when we first made love. The men we watched…well, they were more experienced and adventurous, and in some cases more desperate, I reckon. They did not necessarily take care with each other. It was their example, and theirs only, that I had when I first approached you. And I am sorry that it had such a disastrous consequence.”

“Not so disastrous,” Ernst murmured, tracing his fingers down Hanschen’s cheek.

Hans shook his head slightly. “Disastrous enough,” he quietly insisted. “It was never my intention to make you feel used, or to rush you when you felt discomfort. Sex should never be like that.”

Ernst’s eyes contained nothing but softness when Hanschen finally made himself meet them. “No, you’re right,” he acquiesced, “it shouldn’t. But we were two inexperienced young boys fumbling our way through desires we could barely even understand. You didn’t know better than to be hasty with me, and I did not know how to ask for what I wanted instead. What matters is that we found our way.” 

Hanschen slid up toward him then, his heart brimming with fondness. “You always manage to say things in exactly the way I need to hear them.”

“Then may I tell you something else?” Ernst inquired, and waited until Hans gave a small nod before continuing. “You are so good.” Hans’ heart surged at the praise, something needy in him clinging to it even as he felt almost shy about receiving it. “The most careful, gracious, incredible lover I could have asked for. And nothing in your past or ours could ever change that.”

For all his ease with words, Hans felt completely at a loss to return the gift of Ernst’s kindness. So he contented himself with kissing Ernst soundly enough to render him speechless as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR THOSE READING THESE NOTES BEFORE THE ACTUAL CHAPTER: The secret that Hans reveals here is that he was in a relationship with a young man eight years his elder, before he embarked on his current relationship with Ernst. Hans is fifteen when this relationship starts; the current age of consent in Germany is fourteen (I'm pretty sure there was no such thing as age of consent laws in the time period of _Spring Awakening_ , so I went by current metrics), which by and large would make it _technically_ legal, but still a little bit dicey. If you're familiar with the controversy in fandom surrounding the age gap in _Call Me By Your Name_ , this plays into the same moral grey area as that. Hans makes it clear in this chapter that he does not consider the relationship to have been abusive and that his consent was both sought and freely given at every stage, but it's still a very blurry line, and might make some readers uncomfortable. 
> 
> In the fandom wiki page for Hanschen, it's pointed out that Hans was taught about sex by a governess as well, so I also threw this in as a nod to a history of Hans being familiarized with sex through older adult figures.
> 
> Side note: Instead of the lyric I chose from this song, I thought about using the "We Are Golden" lyric "No giving up when you're young and you want some" as the title of this chapter, but it seemed like it would trivialize the issue, so I restrained myself.


	10. Don't Care Where You Go, As Long As You Stay With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to A BRAND NEW CHAPTER OF THIS FIC! I apologize for the long, _long_ hiatus. I got hit with a two-month spot of Writer's Block, and when the inspiration came back, it was for a section of the story three chapters ahead of where we are right now. So I was making progress...but none of it was immediately useable. And then I had fics due for another fandom, and I was trying and failing to do NaNoWriMo, and time just sort of got away from me. But the New Year brought both focus and inspiration with it, and here I am with probably the longest chapter this story has seen yet! Thank you for being patient, for your comments, for your tumblr messages. Things should move quicker from here on out.
> 
> This chapter does have an instance of voyeurism that falls under the mantle of somewhat dubious consent. If you're concerned, skip to the end notes for a description.
> 
> It would almost not be a chapter of this fic if the chapter title weren't a MIKA lyric. This one comes from his song ['Oh Girl, You're The Devil,'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6zpIvhq7fLs) which I had never heard before! In fact, I had never heard any song from this album before I found this song; I call myself such a fan, but I didn't even realize he had released this album! (P.S. If you want to cry tonight, this song- ['No Place in Heaven'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNrpLqg6ezE)\- is giving me all kinds of Ernst emotions and will definitely be the source of a chapter title sometime in the future.)

It was some time after their reunion before Hanschen and Ernst discussed their original plans for their year of freedom before university. Nearly half that time had been taken up by their unfortunate separation, and as winter deepened and Christmas approached, the matter went unspoken, as if the act of acknowledging it would bring it more fully into being. Their denial did not erase the reality: the train tickets to Athens sitting tucked away in Hans’ bedside drawer, or the letter of confirmation on the desk, from the monastery through which Ernst had arranged to do his service work. And the dates on both documents, very soon after the first of the year, loomed ever closer.

The prospect of being apart once again, so soon after reconciling, was the intimidating thing. In the weeks following their return home, the desperate passion of reunion had cooled to its usual low simmer, but there was something needy in both of them still. They thought of those long months apart and imagined a second, equal space of time without one another—and the idea was enough to make them doubt whether it was worth it, after all, to seek separate paths again. Their plans, and finances, allowed for only one visit: for Ernst to journey south and join Hanschen for a fortnight on the Mediterranean coast after about eight weeks, in the middle of March. But that brief holiday would be their only time together until Ernst returned to their flat in May, and Hanschen three weeks thereafter.

So rather than acknowledge their worries and sadness, they did not speak of it. Instead, they worked, and enjoyed the warm glow of the holidays, and in the evenings they wrapped themselves in each other and soaked up every bit of time they could get.

It was Hanschen who finally broached the subject, late at night when they were wound tight together against the chilly midwinter air. Hans’ face was half-buried in Ernst’s messy curls when he mentioned it. “I’m having second thoughts,” he said. Ernst’s only response was a sleepy questioning murmur, although Hans knew he had not actually been fully asleep. “About going to Greece,” he added, for clarification.

Ernst’s eyes opened then. “You are?”

“Should I be?”

Ernst’s breath stuttered. “No. Yes. I—” he exhaled a shaky laugh. “I admit, I’m not too sure myself.”

Hanschen traced a thumb across Ernst’s cheekbone. “I don’t want to leave you again,” he confessed, and immediately sighed to feel Ernst’s lips on his palm, offering affection as a means of reassurance so readily it must be almost unconsciously given.

“A part of me has wanted for weeks now to write the abbot and tell him not to expect me next month,” Ernst admitted in return for his honesty. 

“But you haven’t done it.” Ernst shook his head. “Why not?”

Ernst had spent so long diligently trying not to think about this separation, and the reasons why it should or should not occur. But he found that when Hans asked him, he already knew the answer. “Because our future does not depend on whether we spend these next months together now,” he said. “Six months apart will hardly take the place of the rest of our lives.”

“It will feel like a part of me has been severed,” Hanschen muttered into his hair.

Ernst turned to stroke his fingers along Hanschen’s jawline, tender, as though trying not to aggravate an invisible bruise. “You do not have to go,” he said. “No one will force you. But if I go to the monastery, you cannot come with me.”

“Because I would make such a terrible monk?” Hanschen said, though the joke was weak.

Ernst smiled anyway. “No,” he said, “because _I_ would, were I to be in your presence.”

Hans felt a bit of delight at Ernst’s teasing break through the melancholy of his doubts. “You do think I should go. To Athens.”

“I think,” Ernst said, “that the experience will be of great use to you. And I think the only good reason to sacrifice it would be if it were the only way to preserve something you could never get back again.” He kissed Hans, more deeply than he was used to being kissed in the languid shadows of night. “But this, you _will_ get back.”

It was assurance enough to be convincing, although not sufficient to ease the tangle of longing and sorrow in his heart. He burrowed down into the mattress and lay awake, even after Ernst had fallen asleep—only letting unconsciousness take him when Ernst stirred in the early hours, dragged him closer, and reached over to pull the blankets more fully on top of them both.

-

The train platform was crowded, and noisy, and Hanschen was grumpy at having to be on it. It was January 14th, the date of his journey; in his hands were a few pieces of luggage, lifted high to keep them from dragging in the days-old snow. Ernst was at his elbow, bundled warm and with a solemn, resolved look on his face that almost managed to mask his worry. The train was only meters away, in the distance; already he could see the smoke curling up as it came to meet them. 

Hans felt as though his lips were tingling with the need to kiss him, but they had already exchanged their proper goodbyes. Hans had backed Ernst into the wall by the door as they prepared to leave, had taken Ernst’s face in his gloved hands and tipped his head up to kiss him soundly. Ernst’s fingers had curled in the thick fabric of his coat and tugged him closer, until Hanschen’s greater height made him loom over the other man. _I will never have a greater home than this,_ Hans thought, his mind echoing words he had said aloud to Ernst over a month before, and tried to convey the eight weeks of desperate love that he would feel into this one precious moment.

Out here, on the platform, they could not even hold hands, and it made Hanschen feel itchy with nerves, as did the knowledge that Ernst was fretting and trying not to show it. The train pulled up, and the doors opened. Next to him, Ernst gave a heavy sigh of finality.

“You must get on before all the seats are taken in this carriage,” he said quietly.

Hanschen nodded. He took a step forward, meaning to board and then turn back to wave—but stopped and turned after that single step. There was so little they could do here, but this at least they could chance: he opened his arms, and Ernst stepped gratefully into them, clinging to him almost as tightly as if he were a child. Hans leaned down to rest his cheek against the top of Ernst’s head; with his face buried there, he let his lips graze Ernst’s scalp, the kiss invisible to anyone else.

“I love you,” Ernst whispered. “And I will miss you.”

Hanschen squeezed him a little tighter, then gently put down his suitcases and put his hands on Ernst’s shoulders. “Take care of yourself,” he said; the words felt far too impersonal, but he knew Ernst would hear the intimacy in them. “Come find me in eight weeks. We will sunbathe on the beach together.”

That startled a smile out of Ernst, even though his eyes were quickly filling with tears. “It will be March,” he protested. “Even Greece will hardly be warm enough for that.”

“We will see,” Hans said with a tight smile. He squeezed Ernst again, then winked (with only a fraction of his usual charm) and picked up his bags again. Even after he turned, he could feel Ernst’s gaze fixed on him, but Hanschen found he could not look back until he had settled into his carriage. Then he stared out the window, following the shape of Ernst’s body until the train began to move, and his eyes clouded over too much for him to see.

-

Ernst’s first letter arrived two weeks after Hanschen left for Greece.

_14 January  
Dear Hanschen,_

_I am writing this letter on the station platform, from which your train has just left. I did not plan to start our correspondence so quickly, but the instant you were gone it was as if I remembered a thousand things I wished I had time to say. The smoke from your carriage had not left the air by the time I had a pen in my hand. Now, though, all the words I wanted to tell you have left my mind. I’m afraid I’ve never been an especially good writer. Well, you know that. You heard me recite my compositions when we were at school. I can still remember how our tutors cringed at my errors._

_I wish we had not wasted half of our gap year on more painful separations, because it makes this one all the harder. You are on your way to Greece, and I am to stay here, in the cold and austerity of Germany, without you. Did you have to devote yourself to the language of a country so far away? I hear the Polish language is equally lovely, and much closer as well._

_Well, it will only be a few months. Eight weeks is not so bad. After all, we have been apart for longer._

_Yours,  
Ernst_

The letter had taken rather a long time to arrive, even considering the great distance. Hanschen couldn’t help but notice that its content was absent of all platitudes, indeed of any direct reference to their relationship such as it was. It was Ernst’s attempt at discretion, but it only made Hans yearn to write him back and declare his love in no uncertain terms. And yet, it was a piece of Ernst—his voice, his careful handwriting, his painstakingly chosen words. He could imagine Ernst huddled on a bench on the platform, pen in hand, scribbling his heartache onto the paper and mailing it immediately at the postal service booth. Such a gesture was so terribly valuable.

Hanschen wrote him back entirely in Greek.

-

Ernst’s next letter was composed in quite a different tone.

_11 February_

_Hanschen! Have I seriously waited nearly a month for word from you, only for it to arrive in a language you know I cannot read? My Greek at school was nearly as clumsy as my composition. I was tempted to give your letter to one of the brothers to translate, but I feared that knowing you, the contents would be somewhat unsavoury._

_Well, you will have news from me, even if I am to have none from you. The abbey is wonderfully calm and meditative, and I have been welcomed by the holy men who live here. On every day except Sunday, we go into the nearby towns and bring food to the needy, comfort those in hospitals, and visit children whose families are in distress or who live in orphanages. We pray with everybody we serve, if they are willing. On Sundays we have prayer services throughout the day, and each of us gets to take turns leading the prayers. I know I will always miss my dream of the priesthood, but these few weeks have been the closest I have felt to being a servant of God in a long time. I had forgotten the Bible’s message that He calls us to many vocations, and that not all are meant only to be preachers._

_I was surprised how many of the monks are young, nearly as young as I am. I have begun to wonder how many of them come from circumstances similar to mine. When I inquire how they came to the point of taking vows, many say they wished to be clergymen but could not, for one reason or another. But they are as devoted to God and compelled to service as I myself feel. I reckon we might be brothers in more than one sense._

_The days are quiet here, more so without you. I miss you terribly._

_Yours,  
Ernst_

-

_21 February  
Dear Ernst,_

_Do you mean to imply that you did not enjoy my letter? Do not worry about what it says. I will interpret it for you when you visit._

_I must admit that the weather here, in the winter, is indeed cold. This far South it is not as frigid as our own country, but far from the tropical climate I may have promised you. The town outside Athens, where my rooms are, is quiet too. I find what I miss most—besides you, of course—is the family I lived with last year when we were separated. For all the unpleasantness of that time, I was fortunate to room with such hospitable companions. I have gotten to know a few of the neighboring families here, though, and experienced how generous and welcoming they can be. I must warn you, when you visit they will likely dote on you excessively._

_Once, with a couple of the local children, I went to visit some of the Orthodox churches in the city. They are a sight to behold—more color and extravagance by far than our German churches. You will be astonished by them. And even in this colder weather, the sea at the edge of the village is stunning. I hope it will be warm enough to swim in before my time here is out._

_When not being fed by the neighborhood mothers and compelled into sightseeing by their children, my days are spent with my books. I am learning much, although I fear my conversational Greek is improving at a much faster pace than my scholarly Greek. Next week I hope to visit a university or historical library in the region and immerse myself in its treasures._

_I know you are doing good work. How do you like the brothers your age at the abbey? I think you know in what sense I speak._

_Always yours,  
Hanschen_

_P.S. I know you are finding your time at the monastery very pleasing, but I dearly hope you do not decide to take any vows yourself. I have very selfish reasons for wanting this._

-

_08 March  
Dear Hanschen,_

_How coincidental—I too have been visiting the old churches in this area. Not just the abbey chapels or the local parishes, but a group of us took an excursion to the Cathedral less than a day’s journey away. It was overwhelming in its beauty. The Cathedral choir was practicing in the nave, and the sound of their voices echoing through the sanctuary, up into the high rafters, was heavenly. I had been struggling to concentrate on prayer for the previous week, but I found my tongue unstuck, metaphorically speaking, in that place. We stayed to look and pray for two hours, and still it did not feel like enough._

_I think what has made contemplation so difficult lately is that my mind is preoccupied with the fact that, very shortly, I will see you. I was recently visiting an elderly woman who lives in the village nearby, and she asked of me whether I had a wife or a betrothed, back home. I told her I did not. “But you must have someone you love?” she asked. When I admitted that I did, she took my hand in hers and said that yes, she could see this, and she hoped our reunion was a happy one. I was so beside myself I could barely speak my words of thanks and give her the blessing I had come to bestow._

_Since then it has been difficult to keep my mind from my upcoming travels. I must admit, the prospect of such a long journey discomfits me, but I know the destination is more than enough reward._

_I leave in five days. By next week, I will be seeing you. There could be no happier reunion._

_Yours,  
Ernst_

-

March 18 was a warm day—16 degrees Celsius, only a couple of thin clouds drifting across the sky. For the first time, it was nice enough to spend long periods of time outside, and Hanschen stretched out on a lounging couch on the terrace in front of the house, reading and absorbing what mild warmth the sunlight could offer. At some point in the late morning, he drifted off with his book against his chest, soft and sleepy and relaxed.

He awoke suddenly to the sound of running footsteps on the stone steps leading up the ridge to his lodgings, accompanied by three of the neighborhood children shouting up from the street below: “Κοίτα κοίτα! Έρχεται ένας άνθρωπος! Και πέταξε τις τσάντες του εδώ!”

Hanschen jolted up from his reclined position, not even blinking when his book clattered to the ground. He scrambled out of the seat and bolted to the terrace ledge to look down. Sure enough, two travel bags had been haphazardly dropped at the foot of the steps. And running up them, as fast as he could given the steepness of the slope, was Ernst.

Hans’ face melted into a grin so wide his cheeks hurt. He hadn’t been sure which day his lover would be arriving, how long it would take to get from the village where he was living to Greece. Every time he had heard someone approach, his heart had sped up, wondering if it would be Ernst. But now here he was, like something out of Hans’ dreams: looking sweaty and travel-tired, but coming to a stop at the top of the stairs, panting and looking at Hans with unmasked love in his eyes.

Hanschen leaned over the ledge and called down to the boys, “Φύγε! Και μην κλέβετε τίποτα!” Then he grabbed Ernst’s arm and dragged him through the front door with no futher preamble. He wasn’t willing to waste another minute holding himself back. Ernst was _here_ , in the flesh, flushed and smiling and beautiful, and Hans had to get his hands on him.

He pinned Ernst against the wall, and for a moment he just pressed their foreheads together, his nose nuzzled against Ernst’s. “You are _very_ sweaty,” he murmured.

Ernst gave a breathless laugh. “What did you tell those boys?”

“I said not to steal anything from your luggage,” Hans replied, pressing a light kiss to Ernst’s nose, and then under his eye, and against his temple.

Ernst made to look back at the door. “Do you think they would? Should I go and—”

“You absolutely should not,” Hans said decisively, taking Ernst’s chin in his hand so that he couldn’t move his head away. “Stay where you are and let me kiss you.”

Ernst’s eyes fluttered, and his made a small needy sound in his throat. His hand came up to Hanschen’s neck, pulling him closer, and then their lips were touching. After so long it felt like fireworks going off, like breathing in after a moment too long underwater. Hanschen’s thumb stroked the perspiration-damp hairline at the back of Ernst’s neck, and when Ernst’s tongue slid against his, both men could not hold back a quiet moan of appreciation.

When they separated, Ernst’s eyes—dilated with desire but, as always, careful and scrutinizing—looked him over. “Hans!” he exclaimed. “You’re all pink! Were you lying out in the sun?” He ran a finger over the skin of Hanschen’s cheek, which was indeed warm to the touch and already tingling and sensitive. 

“It’s no matter,” Hans said, but Ernst shook his head.

“It is! It will hurt, and I won’t be able to touch you as much.” His expression was almost a pout; when Hanschen laughed at it, the frown deepened, until Hanschen kissed him on the nose and it changed to wide-eyed surprise.

“Then you will be careful,” he reassured Ernst. “Although not _too_ careful, I trust.” He leaned in and kissed Ernst again, coaxing him from hesitation into arousal once more. It was impossible not to feel the moment of acquiescence, when the heat of desire overtook him and he succumbed to its wild and desperate impulse. Ernst looked _good_ —still comfortably soft, but the weeks of walking and doing physical work on the monastery grounds had lightened him and filled out his muscle just a bit, and his body felt lovely under Hanschen’s fingers. He reached down and used his strength—playing sports with the neighborhood boys had built some muscle of his own—to lift Ernst from the floor, pressing him firmly against the wall and encouraging his legs to wrap around Hanschen’s waist. Ernst’s startled sound was punctuated by a rather flattering gasp of arousal. With the smaller man firmly in his hold, Hanschen carried him over to the bed, and neither one emerged for quite some time.

The bags were retrieved about ninety minutes later, once Ernst had been nestled in blankets and left to sleep off both his long days of travel and the other exertions that had more recently been demanded of him. Hanschen carried them up the steps to his flat, placing them next to the front door for the two of them to worry about later. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he walked past. Ernst was right—his skin was flushed from direct sunlight, and though the burn was not severe enough to deepen much further from its current rosy state, it would still sting in the coming days. Though he had made a half-hearted attempt to clean himself up before stepping outside, he was still disheveled and kiss-sore. In the bed behind him, Ernst lay breathing evenly, loose-limbed and rumpled, but satisfied and cleaned up and well cared for. 

Hans smiled, shucked his clothes again, and climbed back into bed. Ernst stirred and one eye cracked open; but Hans stroked a finger against his temple and murmured, “It’s not time to wake up yet, love,” and he sighed and drifted off again. Bathed in the warmth of the spring weather and the sweetness of his affection, Hans could not help but to quickly join him.

-

Word of Hanschen’s guest did not take long to circulate—the boys, though not prone to thievery as Hans had suggested, were reliable bearers of much of the local gossip—and it was only a matter of time before both of them were invited to dinner at one of the local grandmother’s houses. Hanschen roused Ernst from sleep at 5:00, but Mediterranean dinners were late, so they had time to spare before they were expected at Κυρία Agafya’s house. It was a lovely, temperate evening, and they went for a walk down to the market; Hanschen bought flowers to bring to dinner, to thank Agafya for her hospitality, and Ernst peppered him with questions about every unusual sight they passed. 

At 7:00 they arrived and were instantly borne over the threshold by Agafya and her daughter, a woman in her thirties named Maris. The house was bustling and cozy, warmed by a hearty fire and the voices and constant movement of relatives and children. Maris put a platter of stuffed grape leaves and greens topped with rich cheese on the table; Hanschen’s mouth watered to look at it, but before he could reach for one, the matriarch of the house approached.

“Han!” Agafya sung out in greeting; Hanschen barely held back a private smile at the woman’s habitual dropping of the s on the end of his name. In her clumsy German, she said, “Your friend! He is tired, yes? Sit, eat food.” She held Hans at arm’s length. “You are red, Κανακάρη μου. Come, I will help.” Hanschen found himself dragged off with no further preamble.

When he returned, Ernst was sitting at the table, coughing and with an expression of almost alarmed surprise on his face. The culprit, Hans saw, was Maris, standing just to the side and laughing with a bottle of _ouzo_ in her hand. “Your friend,” she said to Hanschen in Greek, “He does not drink, usually?”

Hanschen found himself laughing too. “No, not much,” he admitted, and reached over to ruffle Ernst’s hair, as a pretext for resting his hand briefly on the back of his head. Not that the affection would have attracted much attention; the Greeks were a very tactile people, he’d learned, and they likely would not have batted an eye at Hanschen putting his hands on Ernst. The other man laughed a little too, then, encouraged rather than embarrassed by his reaction to the strong liquor. 

Maris wisely did not pour him any more, but did dispense a small amount into a shot glass and place it at Hanschen’s elbow. “Eat,” she said, nudging the plate towards Ernst. “It is not good to drink ξεροσφύρι.”

Ernst obeyed, taking a bite of one of the grape leaves and making an appreciative sound. “These are delicious,” he said to Hans. He glanced at the two containers he had received from Agafya. “What did she give you?”

“This one is aloe,” Hans said, holding up the smaller vial, “which is a medicinal cooling salve. And this one is…” He removed the lid, smelled it, then smiled and held it out for Ernst to sniff.

Ernst inhaled with caution, and then frowned. “Yogurt?”

“To hydrate and heal the skin,” Hanschen confirmed.

“Well, that should be sexy,” Ernst said dryly, making Hanschen choke with surprised laughter. 

Dinner was a rousing affair—roasted meat, and vegetables from the garden, and sweet desserts at the end that made their fingers sticky with honey. Hanschen sipped the _ouzo_ that Maris occasionally refilled in his cup; Ernst opted for clear tea, but Hanschen savored the potent liquor, imagined Ernst kissing the taste of it off his lips tonight, when they were back in the house.

It was just after 10:00 at night when they walked back to Hans’ flat, full and a bit tipsy (on Hans’ side) and pleasantly languid. The air had cooled, but it was a clear night and the moon was bright over the water. Ernst sorted through his luggage while Hans changed the sheets and prepared for bed. When they had climbed in under the covers, Ernst curled up at his side handed him a sheet of paper—his first letter, written in Greek. “You never told me what this letter says,” he remarked.

Hans raised an eyebrow. “Ah, yes. The letter where I said so many naughty things, as I recall?” he said. “Well, let me translate it for you then.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “Dear Ernst, My trip was long but I have arrived safely in Greece. I hope the days before your departure were not too quiet and lonely. The place where I am living is quite nice—”

Ernst swatted at his shoulder and laughed, as the realization dawned that nothing about Hanschen’s letter had been scandalous at all. “Hanschen, you menace!”

Hans found himself giggling too, helplessly. “Well, there is one bit I would not have wanted your monks to read,” he admitted. “This bit here: ‘I miss you already, and wish you were next to me. The days without you will feel like centuries. Greece will not feel like home until you are here.’” He leaned over to drop a kiss on Ernst’s forehead, and Ernst rubbed a palm over Hanschen’s stomach, where he was warm and solid.

“I wished I could say so much more, in my letters,” Ernst said wistfully.

Hanschen buried his fingers in the man’s curls. “I know,” he said. “Although, you never did answer my question about the monks there. How you _liked_ them,” he added, inflecting pointedly.

Ernst looked scandalized, although Hans knew him well enough by now to tell that the incredulity was mostly for show. He couldn’t hold onto it for long, though, and dissolved into giggles. “Are you asking me if the _monks_ —who have _devoted themselves to the Lord_ —who have taken vows of _piety and chastity_ —” 

“—Were pleasing to look at,” Hans finished through his breathless laughter, and snorted with mirth when Ernst blushed and hid both his laughter and his embarrassment in Hanschen’s shoulder. He didn’t actually answer, and Hanschen hadn’t expected him to; the question was mostly just to tease him anyway.

They quieted to a peaceful contentment, and Hans listened to the sounds of the night around them: the chattering of nightbirds, the gentle pulse of the sea, the very faint strains of a stringed instrument native to the area coming from a house not too far away, where surely a celebration must be occurring. After a moment, he picked up on another sound: soft low voices, and rustling, from the alley below. He got out of bed to peer out the window, careful not to lean too far out lest he be seen. “They’re here again,” he said through a caught breath.

Ernst looked up. “Who is?”

Hanschen gestured him over. “Come and look,” he whispered; when Ernst came to his side, Hans pointed inconspicuously to a shadowy corner of the ledge below the house. In its dark hiding place were two men, only four or five years older than Hanschen and Ernst themselves, olive-skinned and dark-haired. They were pressed close together, hands everywhere; the smaller of the two had his lips against the neck of his companion, and their hips were moving in a way that could not mistake their intention, though they were completely clothed. They were so quiet that it was hard to hear much, but if Hanschen strained his ear he could make out the faint murmurs and sighs of pleasure that made his own blood run faster and hotter in his veins.

He looked at Ernst, who was staring, dumbstruck. “Hanschen. We should not be watching this. They do not know that we can see them.” He did not seem to _want_ to look away, though.

It was not Hanschen’s first time observing a public display of this nature, but Ernst had never witnessed any sexual act other than those in which he had personally been involved. His face seemed to contain shame, discomfort, uncertainty, combined with a helpless arousal that he did not know how to respond to. Hanschen remembered being fifteen and virginal, seeing this very display for the first time. He had climaxed without touching himself or being touched, that night, so overcome by desires then unexplored. “They are in public,” he whispered, “and nearly in plain sight. We can watch for a moment.” These particular men had met in this spot once before, since Hans had been here; he had been reading near the window and seen a glimpse of them, and was not ashamed to admit that he had watched their tryst from his own obscured location. In his mind, there was no shame in watching, if such things occurred where they could easily be seen.

Ernst’s breathing was quick and labored, and the color was high on his cheeks. Hanschen crowded in next to him and pressed himself against Ernst’s back, letting him feel the heat of his arousal; Ernst ‘s whine was a quiet, pleasure-struck sound. Below them, the movement of the men’s hips was growing more insistent, their faces open-mouthed and kisses sloppy with need. Finally the taller man reached into the other’s pants, keeping him hidden but unmistakably wrapping his hand around the hardness within. Inspired, Hanschen reached around to cup Ernst and found him full and twitching. 

Ernst’s breath sped up in an almost panicked intensity, startled by how that small stimulation escalated his pleasure. “Enough,” he whispered. “Take me to bed.”

They collapsed into the sheets and shed their clothes while still keeping their bodies as close together as possible. Hanschen rolled his hips into Ernst, and delighted in the soft needy keening sounds he could not hold back. They were too worked up to do much, and yet Hanschen felt he could not stand to be empty of his lover a moment longer. Scrambling for the stoppered bottle of lubricating oil on the bedside table, he sat atop Ernst and hastily began to open himself up, more quickly than he would otherwise do. His patience lasted only a few minutes; then, he pulled his fingers free, dribbled more oil on Ernst’s cock, and sunk down so fast that both of them made a little startled sound at the sensation.

“Hans,” Ernst breathed, hips twitching up helplessly as Hanschen sighed and tried to adjust. “Hans, Hans—” Hanschen reached over, meaning to pin the man’s wrists by his head but ending up twining their fingers together there instead. They moved together in desperate tandem for five strokes, ten, twenty—and then Ernst made a shocked sound and came, in long waves of pleasure that made him shudder. Hanschen panted above him, moving on Ernst; the other man cried out in oversensitivity with the way each powerful movement forced him into the tight clench of Hanschen’s body, until finally Hans put a hand on himself and stroked furiously until he spilled all over Ernst’s stomach.

It took a while for them to come down: Hanschen sitting atop Ernst, feeling him soften, Ernst making no move to extricate himself from his lover’s body even though he must still be almost painfully sensitive. Though he tried to hide it, Hans couldn’t help but wince slightly when the two of them disconnected; he prodded at his entrance ruefully, and Ernst gave him a grimace of sympathy. “You will be sore in more than one place tomorrow,” he said, tracing a finger along the his arm where his sleeves had been rolled up and the skin was as pink as his face.

“Should I get the yogurt?” Hans said with a sly smile, though it was rendered less effective by the fact that he was still short of breath and sweaty from exertion.

Ernst rolled his eyes. “Maybe tomorrow.” Hans climbed off to wipe himself down, and Ernst felt the bedsheets to see if they had been too thoroughly dirtied. They smelled like sweat and there were a few drops of oil on them where Hanschen’s fingers had been careless, but nothing they could not sleep on. They both splashed their faces with clean water and freshened up before returning to bed. The amorous men in the alley below had moved on, now, to some other activity and were nowhere to be found.

Once they climbed back into bed, Ernst was silent for a moment. Then he said, “So that is what you used to do with your other lover.”

Hans stilled for a moment, unsure about this introduction of a sensitive topic between them, before he saw that Ernst seemed at ease—if still a little dumbfounded. “Yes, after a fashion,” he said. “I suppose that is why I have no reservations about watching such a display.” He ran a gentle finger underneath Ernst’s ear. “How did you feel about it?” he asked, knowing that Ernst’s sensibilities were a little more delicate and that their illicit observance might feel, to him, more like a sin than a seduction.

Ernst shut his eyes, inhaled deeply, and let the breath out again. “It felt terribly _private_ ,” he said quietly. “I knew I should look away. But they were so… _free_.” He looked up at Hans, wide-eyed, and in his gaze there was a wistful longing. “They could have been caught any minute, and yet they were _safe_ , somehow. As though nothing could harm them.”

“Perhaps one day none of us will have to hide behind closed doors,” Hans said, feeling Ernst’s fierce hope bloom in his own chest. 

Ernst played with the fingers of his hand. “Perhaps,” he said. Hanschen pressed their foreheads together, and they kissed, lips drifting together again and again, in lazier and softer grazes, until they fell asleep between one breath and the next—between one kiss and another.

-

_15 April  
Dear Ernst,_

_Lately, as the weather warms and the days stretch on into spring, I keep thinking of a poem I learned in school. It is a Sonnet by William Shakespeare—his 98th, I believe. It reads thus:_

_“From you have I been absent in the spring,_  
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,  
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,  
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.  
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell  
Of different flowers in in odour and in hue,  
Could make me any summer’s story tell,  
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:  
Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,  
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;  
They were but sweet, but figures of delight  
Drawn after you, -- you pattern of all those.  
Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,  
As with your shadow I with these did play.” 

__

__

_The subject of the poem is writing to a lover from whom he is parted in the spring. Did you know that the “Fair Youth” to whom Shakespeare’s sonnet is addressed is said to be a young man? Quite an interesting bit of trivia._

_Always yours,  
Hanschen_

-

_15 May  
Dear Hanschen,_

_I have returned. Come home to me._

_Love,  
Ernst _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are reading these notes before the chapter: the voyeurism tag/warning refers to a scene in which Hans and Ernst observe a couple outside their window who are engaging in sexual activity. The couple is partially hidden from view, and does not know they are being watched, but they are technically "in public." This could be considered a dubious consent scenario in the sense that the couple is being watched without their knowledge or consent, but it is not written as invasive. 
> 
> I had to Google so many things in order to write this chapter.  
> \- For those who live in Fahrenheit-temperature zones like I do, 16 degrees Celsius is about 60 degrees Fahrenheit.  
> \- While I didn't choose a specific place where Ernst's monastery is located, in my mind the cathedral he visits is [Bamberg Cathedral](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bamberg_Cathedral), which I've never been to but which is gorgeous in pictures.  
> \- Every instance of Greek in this chapter is from either Google Translate or searches for specific phrases, so please help me correct any errors. When Ernst arrives, the children shout "Κοίτα κοίτα! Έρχεται ένας άνθρωπος! Και πέταξε τις τσάντες του εδώ!" which means "Look, look! A man is coming! And he dropped his bags here!" Hanschen responds "Φύγε! Και μην κλέβετε τίποτα!" or "Go away! And don't steal anything!" Κυρία (the title by which Agafya is called) is a respectful term for a married woman; Agafya calls Hanschen Κανακάρη μου, which is a sort of motherly endearment. Maris instructs Ernst not to "drink ξεροσφύρι," which is a colloquial term for not drinking on an empty stomach.  
> Ernst's slightly leaner physique in this chapter was partially inspired by the fact that I went to a play recently at the same theater where I originally saw _Spring Awakening_ (it was the actors from this production that I based my mental image of this story's Hans and Ernst on) and the actor who played Ernst in that original production was in the play that I saw, and let's just say that four years later, he is looking FINE.  
>  As always, find me at [my tumblr](http://imaginedmelody.tumblr.com) if you want to chat!


End file.
